


We Are Who We Are

by sigh_no_more



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: actually a Shop Around the Corner adaptation, because apparently the fandom doesn't have enough, coffee shop AU, possible more background pairings to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigh_no_more/pseuds/sigh_no_more
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras develops a crush on a new friend. The only problem is they've never met face to face, and only correspond via the Internet. As he falls more and more for this mysterious pen pal, he starts a job at The Musain Books and Café, where he finds himself instantly at odds with Grantaire, the barista. </p><p>Or, a Shop Around the Corner/You've Got Mail adaptation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Coffee and Cynics

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the lyrics of F.U.N.'s "Carry On" because I am terrible at titles, and I like that song.

The Musain Books and Café sat nestled at the end of a narrow street. Off the beaten path, it had a sense of timelessness, like it had been tucked away in that particular pocket of Paris forever, mostly unnoticed and always unchanging.

Enjolras had fallen in love with it instantly. He loved the asymmetrical structure, and the large windows and creaking steps. He loved the old-fashioned bell that chimed when the front door opened. And he loved the smell. His friends always joked that Enjolras never stopped to smell the roses. This was true; what did Enjolras care for roses? But books…books he loved. Old books, new books, he didn’t care. Books had one of the best scents in the world as far as Enjolras was concerned.

The Musain also had another of Enjolras’s favorite scents: coffee.

The ground floor of the shop featured a cozy café which served coffees, teas and baked goods. The seating area was the first thing patrons encountered when they entered the Musain, and it was here Enjolras found himself on a drizzly Monday morning.

“Enjolras!”

He found himself face to face with Courfeyrac, one of his best friends who quickly engulfed him in a hug, even though they had seen each other less than two days ago.

“Hi,” Enjolras said, attempting to return the hug, although his arm was awkwardly pinned to his side.

He had grown used to Courfeyrac’s outbursts of physical affection, and was even starting to enjoy them.

“Couldn’t stay away from me, eh?” Courfeyrac released Enjolras.

“I didn’t know you were working today.”

Courfeyrac pouted. “You’re seeing the books behind my back?”

“Actually, I’m looking for your manager.”

“Feuilly!” Courfeyrac called.

A scowling red head poked his head out of the kitchens. “What?”

Wanting to make a good first impression, Enjolras crossed the café.

“My name is Enjolras,” he said, shaking Feuilly’s hand. “My friend Combeferre said you needed someone to work the bookstore and I should come in and interview.”

“Combeferre did mention you,” Feuilly gave him a once over. He took the resume Enjolras offered him. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-two,” Enjolras said, trying not to sound annoyed. He knew he looked much younger than he actually was, but he still hated when people asked him how old he was.

Feuilly tilted his head thoughtfully. “You don’t really have a lot of customer service experience. But Combeferre said you’re all right, so—”

He was interrupted by the sound of books crashing. He swore under his breath. “I gotta go. Courfeyrac, finish helping Musichetta in the kitchen for me. Combeferre’s friend, have a seat for a minute. I’ll be back.”

Feuilly gestured vaguely to the stools in front of the counter before hurrying away.

Courfeyrac made a face at Enjolras. “I can’t believe you’d rather work the bookstore with Combeferre than the café with _me_.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. He could be charming when he wanted to be, but being a waiter and spending all day making small talk and taking orders from irate customers sounded exhausting.

“Fine,” Courfeyrac stuck out his tongue. “Go nerd out with Combeferre. I won’t give you any more free food.”

“You’ve never given me free food.”

“And now I never will,” Courfeyrac said, retreating back into the kitchen.

Alone and with nothing else to do, Enjolras sat in the seat Feuilly had indicated. He had been seated for all of ten seconds when a cup was set in front of him.  He looked up and saw the barista staring at him with a large grin on his face.

Enjolras frowned and the man’s smile faltered. “I didn’t order his.”

“It’s your usual,” the barista insisted.

It was Enjolras’s turn to stare. He only vaguely recognized the barista. He had come to the Musain often enough since both his best friends started working there several months ago. He ate at the café fairly frequently, but only when Courfeyrac was also there. And Courfeyrac was always happy to put in their orders and bring them to their table.

As a result, Enjolras was sure he had _seen_ this barista, but never actually spoken to him. When Enjolras got coffee with Courfeyrac (usually whenever Courfeyrac’s shift ended), it was so they could study together and so Enjolras spent the time aggressively holed up in a corner with his laptop. He thought he might have nodded to the barista a few times, but that was it.

“You have a good memory,” Enjolras told him.

The other man shrugged. “You get the same thing every time.”

Enjolras’s friends tease him for being predictable all the time, so he said what he always told them. “I know what I like.”

“So do I,” the barista said. His tone was earnest, and sounded like there was some double meaning behind those words, though what that was, Enjolras couldn’t fathom. The barista hesitated for a fraction of a second, like he wasn’t sure if he would regret his next words or not. He plunged ahead anyway. “Plus you’re pretty memorable.”

“Oh. Because I’m friends with Courfeyrac.”

It made sense he would remember Enjolras by association with his energetic co-worker.

The barista blinked and looked oddly disappointed. “Sure. Because you’re friends with Courfeyrac.”

“I still didn’t order this,” Enjolras nudged the cup.

“On the house.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Tell you what,” the barista interrupted. “The price for your coffee is your name.”

“My name?”

“I’ve been calling you Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s friend in my head. Or Vanilla Ice.”

“Um…why?”

“Because you always get a shot of vanilla in your coffee.”

“Why ‘Ice’?”

“You know, like the American 90’s rapper?” Enjolras stared. Like _who_? “Okay. So you don’t know. You’re nothing like him, but I couldn’t just call you ‘Vanilla’. That’d be weird. So you can see my predicament.”

“Enjolras. My name is Enjolras.”

“Nice to meet you, Enjolras.” He drew out the name as if he were savoring it. “I’m Grantaire.”

Grantaire watched Enjolras take a careful sip of his coffee.

“It’s good.”

Emboldened by this praise, Grantaire leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “So why are you looking for a job? I thought you were loaded.”

“You know about my finances, but you didn’t know my name?”

Grantaire stiffened, looking panicked. But Enjolras must have imagined the deer-in-the-headlight look, because a second later, Grantaire smirked.

“I was just guessing based on the ridiculous amount of overpriced coffee you consume.”

“Should you call your own coffee overpriced?”

Grantaire shrugged.

“So what’s the story?” Enjolras furrowed his brow, so Grantaire clarified. “Why do you need a job? Did you wake up one morning and decide to see how the other half lives? Or did mommy and daddy cut you off?”

Enjolras pursed his lips as he deliberated. On the one hand, he wasn’t in the habit of discussing his personal life with strangers. On the other, this stranger had given him free coffee, and he was actually pretty proud of what happened.

“I didn’t get _entirely_ cut off,” Enjolras said, purposefully being mysterious.

Grantaire grinned and leaned forward. “Oh?”

Enjolras nodded. “Combeferre, Courfeyrac and I organized a protest at our university over the gender discrimination in student housing. Things got out of hand, and we got kicked out.”

“Of school?”

Enjolras shook his head. Considering the financial donations his family had made, expulsion was highly unlikely. “Just the dorms.”

Technically Combeferre and Courfeyrac hadn’t been kicked out. Enjolras had taken full responsibility for what had happened, because their families were not obnoxiously rich, and they might actually be expelled. But Combeferre and Courfeyrac had insisted if Enjolras was no longer welcome in the dorms, they too would move off campus.

Grantaire looked impressed. “Were your parents pissed?”

People always assumed Enjolras was a constant frustration to his parents, but really, it was the opposite. His father had grumbled and lectured him a bit, but Enjolras had found newspaper clippings of the dorm protest and others stashed away in a box in the attic, stored alongside his early report cards, art projects from elementary school and other memorabilia.

His mother had sighed, and told him he would have to pay for his own rent. (“Sweetie, you need to learn to protest _smarter_ , not necessarily bigger.” “But bigger gets more attention.” “Not necessarily the kind you want. Let’s go over your social media campaign again.”)

“No,” Enjolras shrugged. “I think they were actually proud. But they said I should pay rent so I can understand my actions have consequences.”

He was actually excited. He had found a decent studio apartment near where Combeferre and Courfeyrac would be moving. They offered to find a three bedroom to share, but truth be told, he relished the prospect of living alone for the first time.

“Just rent?”

“Just rent.”

“So you can still afford to come here and buy overpriced coffee from me.”

“I maintain that is inappropriate for an employee to say.”

“Maybe being a little inappropriate is fun.”

Enjolras was about to respond, when a girl walked up to him and settled in the stool next to him.

“Hi,” she fluttered her eyelashes.

“Hi,” Enjolras said politely, before turning back to Grantaire.

“I was wondering if you could help me find a book.”

“He doesn’t work here,” Grantaire said impatiently, almost glaring at the girl.

“I recognize you from my freshman politics class,” the girl continued, ignoring Grantaire. “I wanted to know if you could recommend any books I should read before I take a seminar with Professor Lamarque next semester.”

Enjolras’s face lit up.

About fifteen minutes later, the girl had an armful of heavy political books.

“I think that’s enough,” she winced.

At this moment, Feuilly helpfully rematerialized and rang the girl up. She ended up buying only two of the dozen books Enjolras suggested.

“Thanks for your help. Maybe you could give me your number and we could meet up and talk about them once I read them.”

Enjolras nodded eagerly. He was always excited to talk about politics, especially with new people so he could listen to different points of view. He was about to reach for his phone, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It belonged to a very amused looking Courfeyrac, who nodded to the girl.

“Hey, Marie.”

Enjolras blinked. Did Courfeyrac know _everyone_ in Paris?

“Oh, hi, Courfeyrac,” she mumbled.

“I have his number, so I can give it to you,” he said pleasantly. Enjolras was going to protest that he could handle his own business, but Courfeyrac squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, so he decided to trust him on this.

“He’s going to work here too,” Feuilly added. “So you can come back. Bring friends.”

Marie nodded, and shot Enjolras one more smile before flouncing out.

Enjorlas stared at Feuilly. “You’re going to hire me? We haven’t even done an interview yet.”

“That girl has been coming here for months, and she’s never bought any books.”

“Just our overpriced coffee,” Grantaire called from behind his counter.

Enjolras nearly jumped. He hadn’t realized Grantaire had been listening to the exchange.

“Just our overpriced coffee,” Feuilly agreed. “Seriously though, if you can keep doing that, you have a job here. That was good.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, smiling. “I was just helping her with her politics seminar.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “I know for a fact Marie is a dance major.”

“Really?” Enjolras said, impressed. “That’s amazing that she’s pursuing an unrelated major and still trying to expand her knowledge.”

For some reason this made Feuilly and Courfeyrac burst into laughter. Enjolras looked questioningly at his friend.

“Yes,” Courfeyrac said, patting Enjolras’s head. “She wanted to expand her _knowledge_. That is why she listened to you rant about politics for twenty minutes.”

Enjolras frowned. Courfeyrac and Feuilly both still looked amused and he didn’t understand why. “Right.”

“Come on,” Feuilly said, forcing a straight face. “Let’s go to my office and discuss your schedule.”

Enjolras caught Grantaire’s eye as he followed Feuilly. Grantaire raised his eyebrows and grinned. As Enjolras smiled back, he thought that maybe working at the Musain wouldn’t be so bad.

***

He was mostly right. Working at the Musain was decent, for the most part. There were aspects of his job he really liked. He really admired his boss, for starters.

Feuilly had started as a dishwasher in the kitchens when he was legally old enough to start working, and had gradually made his way to the top. The Musain had been a family business for generations, but Mr. Mabeuf, the last owner, had no biological children of his own, and so upon his retirement, passed the store onto Feuilly.

Feuilly had just gotten back from a three month trip, helping Mabeuf  settle into the South of France before coming back to take the reins. He was a good boss and a hard worker.

Enjolras also liked that he was allowed to sit in the used book section during breaks and read whatever he wanted. Apparently it was a tradition Mabeuf had started, and Feuilly was especially fond of. He called that corner his best classroom.

Enjolras’s schedule also gave him little to complain about; his shifts coincided a lot with Courfeyrac’s. Although that wasn’t too hard to do, considering the absurd amount of hours Courfeyrac worked- a necessity, it seemed, to finance his insane social life. Enjolras saw little of Combeferre, who was working less this semester as his classes became more demanding. Also, Feuilly had made some comment about having to spread out the best looking book store employees (“Wait, what?” “Hardest working book store employees. You know Babet and Claquesous are complete slackers).

Babet and Claquesous _were_ awful co-workers, but at least usually snuck out to have a smoke in the back, and Enjolras barely had to interact with them. Grantaire was a whole other story.

Enjolras thought they had hit it off the day of his interview, but apparently that feeling was not mutual, because almost as soon as Enjolras started working, Grantaire would go out of his way to antagonize him. It started when he swiped Enjolras’s ID badge and replaced it with one that said, “Louis XVI”. Apparently Enjolras’s indignant reaction was worth it, because it was becoming a weekly occurrence.

If it were just the name tags, Enjolras could deal with it. But Grantaire also took it upon himself to start arguments over everything Enjolras said. And when he wasn’t fighting, Enjolras caught him staring, probably waiting for him to mess up, so he could hold it against him and mock hm.

But despite Grantaire’s best efforts to make him miserable, for the most part, Enjolras enjoyed his job. Friday nights were his favorite- they were the ones he consistently worked with Combeferre. No one else wanted to work weekend evenings, and neither he nor Combeferre really minded, since they would just be hanging out together anyways.

On this particular Friday night, Enjolras was restocking the shelves. As was tradition, Feuilly started blasting classic rock as soon as they closed the shop.

Normally, Enjolras liked the store after hours. He was just as addicted to the smell of books as he was before he started working there- some novelties never wore off. (He was less fond of the coffee smell, if only because it reminded him of Grantaire). The monotonous task of tidying the shelves was a task he usually found strangely soothing.

Today, though, it dragged on. He had done this enough times by this point so he could be fast and still not mess it up, which was good, because he was in a rush. Combeferre had a knowing look, and seemed slightly apologetic as he approached his best friend just as he was finishing.

“I need a quick word before you leave,” Combeferre inhaled, hardly giving Enjolras time to respond. He was a rip-the-band-aid-off-all-at-once kind of guy. “We’re not allowed to have meetings on campus anymore.”

“ _What_?”

Combeferre nodded grimly. “They implemented a new rule that says officers of a club must live on campus in order to book a meeting room.”

“That’s complete _bullshit_. They only did that to block us.”

That wasn’t paranoid of him to think so; the Amis of the ABC had long been a thorn in the side of the administration.

“I know. But even if we did get them to reverse the rule, we’d have to put up with all the paperwork and bureaucracy. Instead of wasting our energy trying to fight them, we should just find somewhere else.”

Enjolras wanted to argue- he had no intention of just accepting some bullshit policy. But maybe Combeferre had a point. Using their time and resources to fight a policy that probably wouldn’t budge and really only affected them would distract them from more important issues.

“Okay then. Any ideas?”

Combeferre looked relieved he didn’t have to convince Enjorlas. “Not yet. I only just found out.”

“My apartment?”

“It’s big, but not that big.”

“Your apartment.”

“Courfeyrac is letting a friend of his crash on our couch indefinitely.”

“Here.”

Enjolras and Combeferre jumped at the sound of Feuilly’s voice. Neither of them had heard him approach.

“Here?” Enjolras repeated.

Feuilly nodded, shrugging. “Yeah. The café has plenty of room. You could use it after closing.”

“That would be great,” Enjolras said, sincerely. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s for selfish reasons, really. Combeferre and Courfeyrac always talked about your group and I was curious but never had a chance to go. Now you’re stuck with me.”

“We’d be honored to have you,” Enjolras said sincerely, hardly believing their luck. They had a perfect new meeting space _and_ Feuilly would be able to attend their meetings? They should have gotten kicked off campus sooner.

“Thank you,” Combeferre added. “I can discuss possible schedules with you, if you want.”

“Sure.”

“And I’ll see you at your apartment in half an hour?” Combeferre said to Enjolras.

He nodded gratefully and all but ran out the door, passing Grantaire as he went.

“Where the hell is he off to?”

Enjolras heard Combeferre say, “That’s his business. You could ask him yourself,” just as the door slammed behind him, and felt grateful to his friend.

Their social circle tended to gossip, Combeferre and himself being the exceptions. It was inevitable, given how close (or co-dependent) their group of friends was. For the most part, Enjolras accepted it, but sometimes, like now, he appreciated some privacy, especially since he had no idea how to describe what was happening with him and not sound insane.

The most simplistic description of his situation was he had potentially romantic feelings for someone he had never spoken to in person, and whose name he didn’t know. It was all very new and uncomfortable for him.

The fact that he had no idea this mystery man’s identity was what gave Combeferre and Courfeyrac (the only other people who knew) pause. For Enjolras, the most worrying part of all this was the romantic feelings part, because that was completely new territory for him. If the man turned out to be a serial killer, like Courfeyrac kept darkly hinting he might be, Enjolras was more than confident in his ability to take care of himself. Failing that, he knew his friends would avenge him in a spectacular fashion. So, no, he wasn’t worried about receiving grievous bodily harm. He was afraid of experiencing a whole different kind of pain.

For all that he scoffed at his friends for their romantic entanglements, he secretly admired the bravery that came with opening yourself up to another person so completely. Enjolras’s friends called him fearless, but the truth was he was just very good at flinging himself towards things that terrified him then conquering it.

He wasn’t even sure if what he was feeling _was_ romantic, since he had never dated before, or had any interest in it. But whatever he was feeling was new, and based on his friends’ descriptions of crushes, he was afraid he might be developing one.

Enjolras let out a low chuckle at finding himself in this position. He hadn’t sought it out; if anything, it had sought _him_ out.

It started when he picked up a copy of one of the student newspapers. He usually didn’t bother; the school clearly exerted its influence, and the result was fluff pieces and filler columns. But on one particular day, he had been waiting outside the administrative offices, awaiting the harshest punishment they thought they could enact without pissing off his parents. He was sitting on a bench, staring at nothing, when a copy of the student paper caught his eye. He had picked it up, figuring it was better than counting cracks in the ceiling.

For the most part, it wasn’t. It was a summer edition of the paper, so most of the regular journalists were gone, and the quality more lacking than usual. But one column caught his eye.

It was a cutting piece on recent police brutality at a student protest. It utterly ripped apart futile justification the local police department offered for it, and highlighted the long record of violence at protests by citing very specific examples. Enjolras was enraptured; he had said very similar things when he had heard about it to the Amis. Whoever this person was, they were on the same page as him.

And then the end felt like a slap in the face. The author concluded that while police brutality was obviously wrong, the student protests were wasting their time and risking their lives for nothing.

Enjolras had crinkled up the newspaper. His went back to staring at the ceiling.

But the article and its author were still nagging at him. As soon as he got home, he wrote a letter to the editor, applauding the research of the column, but refuting its conclusions. He hesitated before signing it. The author of the column only signed his name ‘R’. It seemed a common theme among the columnists - the advice columnist only went by ‘J’ and the humor columnist ‘B’. Enjolras didn’t want to give away his identity if he didn’t know who the author was. He wanted them to be on an even playing field, so he signed his letter, “an ami”, sent it, and didn’t think anything more of his response.

After that, Enjolras made sure to check the student newspaper’s website every day. The column, he found, was relatively new, started only when one of the paper’s regular columnists went on vacation. He read every one of them, each an in depth critique on some current event or another. He disagreed with their cynical tone, but marveled at the obvious intelligence of the writer.

A few days after his letter to the editor, Enjolras found the columnist had dedicated his section that day to responding to Enjolras. He deconstructed Enjolras’s arguments, but not as brutally as Enjolras knew he was capable of. They weren’t arguing; they were sparring.

When he finished reading the column, Enjolras raced to his laptop, and wrote a refutation in response to the refutation, adding some other thoughts he had on the articles written between the student protest one and the one published that day.

This went on for weeks, until one day:

“Thank you, readers, for following the inane ramblings of a cynic. As summer draws to a close, and your regular columnists return from their vacations or whatever they were doing, it’s time for me to sign off one last time…or until someone gets sick, or bored, or something. Farewell for now, readers, and farewell, mon ami.”

Enjolras stared at that paragraph for what felt like an eternity. Writing in to R had become a regular habit- a part of his routine. And now, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over. He scanned the paragraph again, then read and reread the last three words. “Farewell, mon ami.”

R had made a point to single him out. Perhaps it was courtesy, since as far as Enjolras could tell, he was the only person to interact with R. But maybe, just maybe, R would also miss him.

Acting quickly before he could regret it, Enjolras typed out one more email to the editor, asking that it be forwarded to R:

            Going so soon?

He paused, then stuck in a throwaway email address, sent, and hoped.

Enjolras stayed logged in for days after that, waiting to see if R responded. He became more and more discouraged, but never completely gave up. His persistence was rewarded, when a chat bubble popped up.

            **R** : i can’t fucking believe thats your username.

Enjolras would never admit to anyone how wide his smile was.

            **June1832** : I made this account for a school project.

That was true. And having an extra school email account had been so convenient, he just decided to keep it.

            **R** : suuure.

            **R** : “school project”

            **R** :  ur still using it though

            **June1832** : I couldn’t give you my usual one, could I? It would break our unspoken rule of anonymity.

            **R** : it’s not unspoken if you just said it

            **R** : but fair point

            **R** : it’s kind of cool to be able to talk to someone w/out them knowing who u really r

            **June1832** : Agreed. Should we have some ground rules then?

            **R** : god ur such a nerd.

            **R** : ok. rules then.

            **June1832** : No real names. No specific details about our lives. Just conversations.

            **R** : that’s very vague

            **R** : ok. i’m in

And thus began the strangest correspondence of Enjolras’s life. They had been going back and forth for about a month. Sometimes they would send each other links to articles. Others they would send multi-paragraph emails discussing their points of view on different current events. And sometimes they just chatted. At first, everything was political. But slowly, Enjolras collected details about his friend’s life.

Of course, due to their agreement, he didn’t know any major details. But he knew R was well-read. He spoke several languages. He liked to fence. He knew martial arts. Apparently he was a good chef. He could dance. He hated mornings. He wanted a motorcycle. He loved taking walks in the rain. And Enjolras suspected (though he never asked) that R’s cynicism was a careful and deliberate decision, though it was a decision that Enjolras himself could not understand.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t understand. He still hurried home from work and turned on his computer. Almost as soon as Enjolras logged into his email account, a message popped up.

            **R** : you didn’t respond to my email yet. it’s been days. have i finally left you speechless?

            **June1832** : I’m still working on a rebuttal. I’m just making sure to get all my sources, since last time you deemed my information “suspect”.

            **R** : you couldn’t remember where you got ur info. i’m 99% sure you made some of it up

            **June1832** : You’ll be getting a works cited page this time. Don’t worry.

            **R** : ur ridiculous i s2g

            **June1832** : I’ve just been busy with my student club.

Enjolras was about to elaborate, when R started typing frantically.

            **R** : no. don’t want to hear about it. rules, remember?

            **June1832** : Right, sorry. It’s weird not to talk about it. But I guess refreshing too. It tends to consume a lot of my time.

            **R** : just so you know, i imagine you run some kind of mafia club

            **June1832** : A mafia student organization?

            **R** : yes

            **June1832** : You’re on to me.

            **R** : n e way, i thought u’d be on sooner to talk. we haven’t talked in days

Enjolras tilted his head. Was that R’s way of saying he missed Enjolras? His fingers almost stumbled over each other as he hastily typed his response.

            **June1832** : Sorry. Like I said, I’ve been busy with my mafia club, and work.

            **R** : u can’t sneakily chat w/ me at work

            **June1832** : I probably could. But I won’t. I respect my boss too much.

            **R** : wow. u, respect authority. never thought i’d see the day

            **June1832** : Not authority in general. Just my specific boss. He’s great. I wish I could tell you about him.

            **R** : yeah. i’m so sad i can’t hear you wax poetical about some other dude

Was that sarcasm? It was probably sarcasm. It was hard for Enjolras to tell if most people were being sarcastic in real life. It was even harder with his cryptic pen pal. Was R…jealous? Probably not. But what if he was? Enjolras didn’t want to presume. He bit his lip and decided to skirt around the issue.

            **June1832** : You aren’t missing out on much. I’m not good at waxing poetical on anything but justice

            **R** : r u batman? is this why ur so secretive

            **June1832** : I thought we just established I was in the mafia?

            **R:** damn. batman would  have been cooler

            **June1832:** Sorry to disappoint. And actually, very sorry, because I have to go. My friend is coming over soon. I’ll get to your email soon though.

            **R:** u better

Enjolras smiled as he signed off. He was doing a lot of that, lately, it seemed. Not that he didn’t smile before. But it was a relief to have someone to talk to, who had no expectations of him, who didn’t act surprised when he wasn’t being serious. Despite having ‘known’ him for only a month, Enjolras was as relaxed with R as he was only with Combeferre or Courfeyrac.

Speaking of his two best friends…Combeferre arrived a few minutes later, with Courfeyrac in tow.

“Movie night,” Courfeyrac declared. “Since I can’t convince you two to come out with me.”

Enjolras shut his laptop and slid over on his couch to make room for them. Movie nights were an at least once a month occurrence for them. Courfeyrac would whine that they never wanted to go out, but they all knew he was secretly glad to have an excuse for staying in once in a while. Courfeyrac had one of the most open hearts Enjolras had ever seen, and gave himself completely to others. Enjolras couldn’t imagine how exhausting it must be. So sometimes when Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and moaned at having to stay in to watch a movie, he and Combeferre let him.

“You seem happy,” Courfeyrac remarked. “Peaceful, even.”

“Isn’t he always?” Combeferre said, with a straight face.

Courfeyrac sniggered. Enjolras gazed at his two friends with wounded dignity. “I’m not that bad.”

“You aren’t. But your default mode isn’t ‘peaceful’.” Combeferre said.

“You were talking to R, weren’t you?” Courfeyrac said eagerly. Enjolras shrugged. “You were! I knew it. When are you finally going to meet him?”

“Do you _want_ to meet him?” Combeferre asked.

“Of course he does! Don’t you?”

Enjolras considered. A part of him wanted to meet R. Collecting random facts about his life wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted to collect mannerisms and expressions. He wanted to see R’s face when he was telling him why he was wrong. And wanted to see his smile. But another part of him didn’t want to make R uncomfortable, and R seemed perfectly fine with their anonymity. And another, very small part was afraid of jeopardizing their easy camaraderie.

“Maybe. But what we have works, so why mess with it?”

“Enjolras not try to fix something that isn’t perfect?” Courfeyrac feigned shock.

Combeferre nudged him with his foot. “Leave him alone. If he doesn’t want to meet him, who are we to tell him he should? Just…think about it, okay? Then do what you want.”

“I will,” Enjolras promised. “I’ll think about it.”

Combeferre nodded, satisfied. And if it was good enough for Combeferre, Courfeyrac was also satisfied.

“Great. Now we can start our Tarantino fest.”

“Our what?”

“Shhh. It’s part of your pop culture lesson. Now shut up and turn it on.”

Enjolras obliged, and nestled between Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He turned his eyes towards the TV, doing his best to stay focused on the movie, and not glance at his computer, or think of R.

                     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks of reading! I've been wanting to do a Shop Around the Corner/Les Mis adaptation for a while, so hopefully it'll work out. Comments of any kind are much appreciated. I'm on tumblr at babesatthebarricade.
> 
> (For those of you reading my other fic, I haven't abandoned it; just taking a quick hiatus, and will have a new chapter up in a few days).


	2. Of Books and Idealists

Grantaire didn’t know what was worse- only catching occasional glimpses of a person you really liked, or seeing them all the time, but having them hate your guts. A normal, healthy person would probably prefer the first option, but Grantaire was nothing if not a bit of a masochist, and he secretly craved his fights with Enjolras.

Enjolras…even his name was beautiful. Grantaire still remembered the first time he walked into the Musain several months ago. It was one of the few times in Grantaire’s life when his jaw literally dropped, because _damn_. People weren’t supposed to be that good looking in real life. As if his ridiculous beauty weren’t enough, Enjolras walked with grace and purpose. He walked- oh, wait, shit, he was walking towards Grantaire.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre had then intercepted him, leading him to a booth and setting a precedence for Enjolras’s subsequent visits. Because Grantaire never interacted directly with Enjolras. Courfeyrac always shooed him to their usual corner table with a laugh and a “No, I’ll get it. I’m already in waiter mode. You relax,” and Grantaire actually didn’t mind. Because although he was usually incredibly articulate, he had no idea what he would actually say to the beautiful boy.

So he listened instead. He learned how passionate Enjolras was. Whether it was a cause, his classes, his friends, or even a book he was reading, Enjolras was never neutral about anything. He also found out just through eavesdropping, what Enjolras was studying, his taste in music and places he wanted to travel. He learned that Enjolras wanted to practice law and work with his family’s charitable foundations after graduation. He learned Enjolras wanted to change the world.

It was admittedly kind of creepy how much information he absorbed about Enjolras, and so on the fateful day when Enjolras talked to him the first time, Grantaire did the only rational thing and pretended he didn’t even know Enjolras’s name. Their conversation went surprisingly well. Enjolras was hired (of course he was- with his charm, good looks and passion, he could probably sell dirt to a farmer).

And then panic set in.

Enjolras didn’t seem to hate him. Quite the opposite, actually. It seemed like they could even be friends, and that freaked Grantaire out. The thing was- he could be a bit of an asshole. He knew that, his friends knew that, but _Enjolras_ didn’t know that. But he would figure it out soon enough, and then he would _definitely_ hate him. So Grantaire fucked everything up, because he would rather Enjolras hate him on his own terms.

Then he couldn’t stop. Enjolras’s indignation after Grantaire switched his name tags had been too enjoyable. He loved seeing Enjolras alight with fury, and he realized he liked to be the cause of that fury. It was a destructive, but utterly addictive habit.

Things got worse after Feuilly offered the Musain as a space for Enjolras’s meetings. Grantaire went to every single one, to Enjolras’s eternal frustration. Part of it was of course to piss Enjolras off, but part of it was he liked Enjolras’s friends. Not only that, but after coercing some of his own friends into going to the first meeting, Grantaire and Enjolras’s friends molded into one big, inseparable group.

On one such meeting day, Grantaire strummed his fingers on the café counter. The last customers had long since gone and he was just waiting for the bookshop to close up so the weekly Friday meeting could start. His eyes kept flickering over to the corner where Enjolras was straightening up the bookshelves. To stop himself from outright ogling, Grantaire took his phone out and checked his email.

There were a few junk emails and one from Bossuet asking him to proofread an article, but nothing from his anonymous pen pal. He was disappointed, but not surprised; June1832 absolutely refused to check his email while he was at work, and he seemed to consistently work Friday nights. Grantaire wondered what he did. He was tempted to ask, but it would break their “no specific details” rule.

A movement caught his eye; Enjolras stretched to reach one of the top shelves. His shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of skin. Grantaire swallowed and looked back at his phone.

“Expecting an email?”

Grantaire flinched. His friend, Jehan was seated at the counter, smirking.

“Jesus, Prouvaire. You’ve really honed your ninja skills.”

“I’ve always had ninja skills,” Jehan sniffed. “Bossuet just hindered them.”

“Where is he, anyway?”

“He’s coming later with Joly.”

“Of course.”

Bossuet and Jehan had been the friends Grantaire dragged to the first Amis meeting. It was there Bossuet had met Combeferre’s friend and fellow pre-med student, Joly. The two had been practically joined at the hip ever since.

Jehan poked Grantaire. “Don’t avoid the subject. You were seeing if he emailed, weren’t you?”

“Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?”

“Because I think you secretly want to talk about it.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “If I wanted advice, I’d write it in.”

Jehan was the advice columnist for the student newspaper. His column, and Bossuet’s humor one were among the paper’s most popular features. Jehan had a knack for getting to the root of problems. He could understand people’s feelings and doled out gentle insights, or sometimes, if the situation called for it, some surprisingly tough love.

“If you don’t want advice, have an observation,” Jehan said. “I think he’s good for you.”

“That’s technically an opinion.”

“Fine. He makes you happy.”

Grantaire couldn’t argue with that.

“And here’s another opinion: you deserve to be happy.”

That he could argue with, but experience warned him not to. Jehan could be scary when he fought, and frankly, Grantaire didn’t have the energy or inclination to open that particular can of worms.

Instead he shrugged noncommittally and fake checked his email. Jehan snatched his phone away and fixed Grantaire with an intense stare.

“I mean it,” he insisted stubbornly, but also with a tinge of sadness.

Grantaire turned away, unwilling to repeat this conversation. Jehan had made it clear many times that he thought Grantaire had to get over Enjolras, and start a healthy relationship. He also made it clear he thought June1832 was a perfect candidate.

The problem was…Grantaire didn’t really _do_ healthy relationships. He had tried (or maybe tried to try was a better description), but in the end, always failed. In any case, a relationship with June1832 wouldn’t exactly be healthy.

True, Grantaire liked him a lot. He was intelligent, he had a dry sense of humor, and he _cared_ about things. Grantaire’s feelings towards him weren’t strictly platonic. He liked to imagine what June1832 looked like, what his laugh sounded like, and how his hand would feel in Grantaire’s. But whenever he tried to imagine these things, all he could see was Enjolras.

How could he explain to Jehan that loving Enjolras wasn’t a choice, it was a fact of his being. He was incapable of “getting over” Enjolras, not that he had any desire to do so. He didn’t _want_ to forget Enjolras, who was the most beautiful person Grantaire had ever known. Grantaire was too cautious, and had seen too much of the world to believe it would get better. But he had been stupid enough to allow himself to believe in Enjolras. He was a beacon of hope and belief and conviction, and without him and his passion, his burning soul, Grantaire would slip back completely into darkness.

Even with the threat of disappointment and heartbreak looming over him like a dark cloud, Grantaire wanted to linger in the light. It hurt, but its absence would be worse. (It was baffling to him that Jehan, with all his Romantic tendencies didn’t understand).

June1832 _was_ special, and he deserved better than a cynic with a penchant for alcohol, who happened to be irrevocably in love with another man.

“I’ll think about it,” Grantaire lied, just to get the worried look off Jehan’s face.

Jehan scrutinized him, clearly not convinced. He didn’t get a chance for further probing, because Bahorel arrived and loudly deposited himself next to Grantaire.

“How were classes?” Grantaire asked, quickly seizing control of the conversation.

Bahorel taught self-defense classes on campus.

“Great. The girls are all kicking ass,” Bahorel replied gruffly, trying to shield the fact that he was practically bursting with pride at his students. No one pointed out that they knew he was secretly a big softie, partly to protect his pride, and partially to protect themselves from getting punched on the arm or possibly face. “You should come, sometime, Grantaire, and be a guest teacher.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe. If I’m not too busy.”

“Staring at Enjolras doesn’t count as being busy.” Jehan grumbled.

Bahorel snorted. Grantaire shoved him. Bahorel shoved him back. Hard.

“Careful,” Joly said, coming up behind them, holding Bossuet’s hand.

“They fucking started it,” Grantaire said.

“Well, if you get hurt, just know I won’t patch you up,” Joly sniffed.

Bossuet pecked his cheek. “Yes you will.”

“Yes, I will,” Joly conceded. “But you won’t get a lollipop when I’m done.”

That probably was also not true. Joly had a seemingly infinite supply of (sugar free) candy on him at all times- although no one seemed to know exactly where he kept it. He gave it out to his friends if they got an injury, if they were sick, if they looked sad, or just because.

Bossuet just chuckled and kissed Joly again- this time on the lips. Courfeyrac came out of the kitchens and flicked his dishrag at them. “Get a room, you two.”

They responded by deepening the kiss. Courfeyrac made gagging sounds.

“Don’t you have work to do instead of being a pain?” Jehan asked teasingly.

“Oh. Pardon me, Mr. Prouvaire,” Courfeyrac said with mock gravity. “I merely came to tell you Feuilly made extra pastries in the kitchen for the meeting and wanted to see if you wanted any. But if you’d rather-”

Bahorel practically leapt over the counter before Courfeyrac could finish his sentence.

Courfeyrac chuckled. “Anyone else?”

Joly and Bossuet followed, still trying to kiss as they walked.

“Hey, hey. None of that in the kitchen. You’ll lower the health code,” Courfeyrac hurried after them.

Jehan hopped off his stool. “I’ll get you something,” he told Grantaire.

Grantaire waved at him absentmindedly. He started doodling a design on a spare napkin, when Enjolras came into the café space, apparently finally finished with his shift.

“Where is everyone?” Enjolras he asked.

“Kitchen,” Grantaire replied.

Enjolras nodded, then sat down at the usual meeting table, not bothering to spare Grantaire another look. He instead cautiously pulled out his phone. He never used it during his shift that Grantaire could see (not that he _watched_ him or anything), unless he was very sneaky about it, which was doubtful; subtly was not Enjolras’s strong point. Grantaire expected he was reviewing talking points for the meeting, but Enjolras didn’t look serious or stressed. Instead, he was _smiling_. Grantaire, a connoisseur in Enjolras’s many facial expressions didn’t think he had ever seen that particular smile before- relaxed, sincere and a little…shy? Shy. That was new.

Luckily Enjolras was far too engrossed in whatever he was reading to notice Grantaire staring more intensely than usual at him. Enjolras also didn’t notice Combeferre come in until Combeferre shoved a pastry under his nose. Grantaire pretended to be interested in wiping the clean counter down, because Enjolras wouldn’t notice him staring, but Combeferre sure as hell would. Combeferre noticed everything.

“Eat,” Combeferre said sternly. “I doubt you’ve eaten anything all day.”

Enjolras waved him off, still grinning at his phone. Combeferre gently eased it from his hand and replaced it with the pastry.

“You can’t reply to him if you’re weak from hunger or dead from starvation.”

Enjolras stuck his tongue out. Grantaire would have been positively struck by how adorable Enjolras was when he let his guard down and acted like a five-year-old, if his brain wasn’t processing what Combeferre said. _Him_. Him? Him who? Who was him?

Enjolras had never been interested in any hims or hers before. That was partially what made it all bearable to Grantaire. In fact, one of the best parts of Enjorlas-watching was seeing Enjolras unconsciously rebuff any attempts at flirtation. Or, if the perpetrator was so persistent that even Enjolras caught on, watching Enjolras eviscerate them. It was reassuring, in a selfish way, that at least if Grantaire wasn’t with Enjolras, at least no one else was either.

He tried to swallow away his feeling of jealousy that he knew he had no right to feel. He pulled himself together enough to trade his now customary barbs with Enjolras once everyone returned from the kitchen, laden with pastries. Enjolras’s voice became more and more clipped as the evening progressed.

“I think that if we coordinate with the other student groups, we might be able to make some progress with the school board.”

“Enjolras, seriously? The other student groups are even less effective than you guys.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “They’re only in activist clubs to have something to put on their resumes. They don’t actually care. This entire movement to lower student tuition is a waste of everyone’s time, and it makes you all look like naïve idiots for trying.”

Enjolras slammed down his notebook. Combeferre put his hand over Enjolras’s wrist. “Collective action has been proven to be more effective in the past,” he said calmly. “Enjolras and I have some meetings next week with other group leaders. We’ll report back to you. In the meantime, if you could all reach out to your contacts, and get in touch with anyone who might be interested, it would be very helpful.”

Enjolras was still seething, but made no vocal objection when Combeferre declared the meeting over. Courfeyrac skidded over to where Grantaire was sitting.

“You.”

“Me,” Grantaire said.

Courfeyrac looked at him carefully. He seemed to sense something was off with Grantaire, even if he wasn’t sure what it was. “We’re getting drinks.”

Grantaire didn’t want pity drinks with Courfeyrac, who behind his customary smile, looked concerned for him. But it was hard to deny Courfeyrac anything, so Grantaire tugged on his coat.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

 

***

Grantaire stumbled home, his brain only slightly dulled. A night out with Courfeyrac was always a guaranteed experience, but for all his partying ways, Courfeyrac was a surprising lightweight. After frequenting bars with Bahorel, Bossuet and Jehan (who could actually hold his own shockingly well), going out with Courfeyrac was a cakewalk. He had begged off early. Going out with Courfeyrac wasn’t about getting drunk, it was about being social. And since the only person Grantaire wanted to be _social_ with had refused to even go out, he saw no particular reason to stay.

He opened his laptop, staring at the annoyingly bright screen. He logged into his email account, for lack of anything better to do, and browsed through some newsletters, and scoffing at messages from various student groups (no, he was not interested in going to the latest student musical production of _Grease_ , thank you very much). Since he had been checking his email fairly frequently during his shift, there really wasn’t anything interesting. He almost logged off, when a speech bubble popped up in the corner.

 **June1832:** Thanks again for the playlist.

Grantaire grinned. They had had an argument about June1832’s terrible taste in music, and Grantaire took it up on himself to make a comprehensive playlist of essential songs normal humans should listen to.

 **R:** there is no way u listened to it all

 **June1832:** I’m in the process of listening to it. But thank you. Although I resent you saying my musical knowledge was ‘pathetically lacking’.

 **R:** u had like 10 songs on ur computer

 **June1832:** I only have songs that I really like. Otherwise I listen to the radio.

 **R:** still unacceptable. if u only really like 10 songs u don’t listen to enough music

 **June1832:** Well then it’s lucky I have you.

Grantaire’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as he read and reread the words, mouthing them, and trying to understand them. No one had ever said that to him, and for good reason. It wasn’t true. Grantaire was truly lucky he had found a small group of people who could tolerate him for extended periods of him. He was the lucky one, and while June1832’s words warmed his cheeks, he also felt a small pang, knowing how wrong they were. So he decided to do what he did best: deflecting with self-deprecation.

 **R:** u have a funny way of showing it. u never answer my emails

Grantaire could see in the text box that June1832 was frantically typing.

 **June1832:** I know, I’m sorry. School has started again, and I’m busy with meetings, and work. I’ll try to be more prompt.

It was kind of endearing how June1832 hadn’t learned yet how to tell if Grantaire was joking or not.

 **R:** dude i was just messing with u. u have a life. that’s to be expected

 **June1832:** Don’t do that. You know I can’t tell if I’ve upset you or not.

 **R:** that’s why it’s fun.

 **June1832:** Just…will you tell me if I actually upset you? I’ve been told I can be callous sometimes. I don’t mean to.

 **June1832:** Or most of the times I don’t mean to. Sometimes people are just….

 **R:** people?

 **June1832:** I was going to say frustrating. But the point is sometimes I say things and I don’t realize are hurtful and I really don’t want to do that with you.

Oh. That wasn’t what Grantaire had been expecting him to say.

 **R:** i promise. i’ll let u know

 **June1832:** Thank you.

 **June1832:** So how are things?

Shitty. Horrible.

 **R:** fine. same old same old

 **R:** how about u? meetings and work sound serious and kinda boring

 **June1832:** They’re not. They’re brilliant, actually.

There was a small lull as Grantaire watched June1832 type, then delete whatever he had written. There was another pause, until June1832 started typing again.

 **June1832:** I wish I could tell you about them. I’d like to hear what you thought.

 **R:** u really wouldn’t

 **June1832:** Of course I would. They’re important to me, and you’re important to me.

Grantaire stared, and no, he wasn’t blushing. It was just suddenly very warm.

 **June1832:** I mean your opinion is important to me.

 **June1832:** …and you. Am I allowed to say that? Because you are.

 **June1832:** Important to me, that is.

Deep breaths, Grantaire told himself as he typed back.

 **R:** why wouldn’t u be allowed to say that

 **June1832:** I don’t know. I just don’t want to cross any boundaries.

 **R:** You didn’t.

 **June1832:** Okay.

 **June1832:** Good.

 **June1832:** Hopefully this isn’t crossing any more boundaries, but

 **June1832:** Do you want to maybe meet up sometime?

 **June1832:** In person, I mean?

Shit. That was completely unexpected.

_Shit._

How was he supposed to answer that? Okay, there was a small part of him that wanted to meet June1832. But another, larger part of him that knew if he met June1832, it would end with him completely fucking up what they had. But how could he politely say no, actually, I don’t want to meet you?

 **R:** anonymity might be hard to maintain if we meet

 **June1832:** That was kind of the point.

 **June1832:** I do enjoy our conversations. But I thought we could maybe have them face to face.

 **R:** wasn’t the no specifics thing ur idea?

 **June1832:** Yes.

 **June1832:** I started thinking recently it might have been a bad one.

Grantaire’s heart was pounding in his chest.

 **R:** it’s not that i don’t want to meet u

 **R:** i just don’t know if it’s a good idea

 **R:** i don’t want to mess with what we have

There was a pause- the longest one yet. And then:

 **June1832:** I understand.

That was it. June 1832 started typing a few times, but never sent anything.  Another minute of noncommunication passed.

 **R:** I’m sorry.

 **June1832:** Don’t be. I'm the one who needs to apologize. We had an agreement. You’re perfectly within your rights to want to stick to it.

 **R:** u just kinda sprang that on me. let me think about it?

 **June1832:** Of course.

 **June1832:** You know you included this Muse song twice on the playlist.

 **R:** i thought u’d like it

The conversation petered out not long after that, with June1832 asking a few more questions, before saying offhandedly that he had some reading he had to do. It might have been true, but Grantaire couldn’t shake the feeling that June1832 was embarrassed. He sighed and shut his laptop. It didn’t take him long to fuck that up.

He rubbed his face, before flopping down on his couch. He didn’t have the energy to stumble over to his bed.

***

Grantaire didn’t start his Saturday shift until the early afternoon, but considering his slight hangover and overall shitty mood, it was entirely too early to be dealing with people.

Enjolras was also scheduled to work, and he also seemed to be in a terrible mood. Misery loves company, Grantaire mused, but he didn’t like seeing Enjolras like this. Sad. He seemed sad. He was never sad. It was almost as bewildering as seeing Enjolras looking shy. He was a force of nature. He wasn’t shy and he didn’t get shy. He got angry.

Grantaire wanted to go to him, smooth his hair, pull him into a hug and ask what was wrong. How could he fix it? He wanted to draw a smile out of Enjolras. But Enjolras didn’t smile at him. Not anymore.

He could make Enjolras really angry, and very quickly. He contemplated. Was righteous fury better than mopey sadness? Yes, yes it was.

The next time Enjolras came close enough to the café counter, Grantaire threw a spoon at him, and missed. Enjolras, busy describing the merits of an anthology of essays to two adoring teenage girls failed to notice the ambush. So Grantaire tried again. And again. Finally, he launched the fourth spoon, and it struck the back of Enjolras’s head. Enjolras whirled around, his eyes narrowing.

“Excuse me,” he said, giving the two girls one of his most charming smiles, before stalking over to Grantaire. Grantaire felt the familiar shiver of anticipation he got whenever he succeeded in pushing Enjolras over the edge and was about to get ripped apart.

“What is wrong with you?” Enjolras hissed.

“Just saying hi,” Grantaire said, sounding surprisingly calm despite his racing heart.

“ _Why_?”

“It’s a thing humans do.”

“I’m working,” Enjolras said. “Just because you have zero respect for your job doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

“Who said I have zero respect for my job?” Grantaire asked, offended. He had like 10% respect for his job. 20% sometimes, on a good day.

“Whatever,” Enjolras said, shoving a stray lock of hair out of his face. “Stop bothering me, and stop trying to drag me down with you.”

He stalked off. So he wasn’t sad any more. Mission accomplished. But victories such as these always felt hollow, for some reason. Grantaire couldn’t stop himself from calling out, “I was thinking of asking Feuilly to switch coffee brands. This free trade stuff is too expensive, and not really worth it, don’t you think?”

Enjolras froze, and his entire body stiffened. Grantaire saw him clench his hands into fists. Then he went completely still. Grantaire recognized what was happening- Combeferre had been coaxing Enjolras to count to ten when he got to the blind fury part of his temper spectrum before doing anything.

He had never gotten Enjolras _that_ pissed _that_ quickly before. Whatever was upsetting him earlier must have been really bad. Grantaire inhaled, waiting for the explosion.

It never came. Joly and Bossuet ambled in. Their hands were joined, and Bossuet swung his arm, causing Joly to giggle.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Bossuet said to Enjolras. “And what books would you recommend today?”

“Hi Bossuet,” Enjolras said, his voice a forced calm. “A book on how to successfully dispose of a body.”

“Oh, I don’t need a book for that,” Bossuet said. He nudged Joly. “The medical knowledge and connections this one has can be very useful.”

Joly batted his eyes innocently, and succeeded in getting the corner of Enjolras’s mouth to twitch upward.

“Is that so.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bossuet leaned forward conspiratorially. “You heard about Professor Blondeau’s,” he raised his fingers to make air quotes. “Sabbatical, right?”

Enjolras nodded, the tension in his body starting to ease.

“That funeral speech I gave when I dropped his class? It wasn’t a joke.” Bossuet said solemnly.

Enjolras was smiling outright now.

“I might need you to be my lawyer at some point,” Bossuet said. “In case Joly’s morgue connections turn on us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Grantaire envied Bossuet and Joly’s abilities to make people cheer up so easily. Individually, they were jovial forces to be reckoned with. Together, they succeeded in getting even angry Enjolras to smile.

“Your usual orders? You should enjoy it while it lasts.” Grantaire asked loudly. “I was just telling Enjolras I might talk to Feuilly about switching to a non-fair trade brand. It would save us money. We could order cheaply from some chain-”

Joly pulled out a lollipop and shoved it unceremoniously into Grantaire’s mouth.  “Hush you,” he said.

Enjolras bade his friends goodbye, and returned to the book section. Grantaire tried not to stare at the stacks in the hopes of catching a glimpse of that blonde mop of hair.

“Stop antagonizing him,” Joly scolded quietly.

Grantaire pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. “I wasn’t. I was just….discussing ideas with him.”

Bossuet chuckled. “Is that what you kids are calling it these days.”

“You need a new hobby,” Joly said. “You should come to yoga with us. It’s very calming. And it’d be good for you. It’d help with your flexibility for fencing, right?”

“Maybe.” Grantaire tended to like violent sports, like fencing, or boxing, or martial arts. But he also really wanted to see Bossuet in a yoga class.

“In the meantime, how about you try something new,” Joly said sternly. “And be _nice_.”

“I’m always nice.” Grantaire poked Bossuet. “Tell him.”

“Since you’re about to make my coffee, I will lie for you. He’s always nice,” Bossuet agreed dutifully.

***

Joly and Bossuet only stayed for a little bit. Joly had to run back to the hospital, and Bossuet offered to drive him. Grantaire spent the rest of his shift, hoping Enjolras would come by again. Or that June1832 would email him. He hated the uncomfortablness that had settled over their relationship.

What was the worst that could happen if they met? Okay, June1832 might realize what a huge mistake he had been making for the past few months, and never speak to him again. But with the way things were now, it seemed like he might be too embarrassed or awkward to speak to Grantaire again anyway. Grantaire ran a hand through his hair, succeeding in making it even messier than before. It didn’t matter. It was only him and Enjolras in the shop anyway.

Oh shit. It was only him and Enjolras in the shop anyway.

Babet and Claquesous had lived up to their reputations as the worst employees ever and snuck out early. Somehow, the customers had all trickled out with Grantaire noticing (probably because he spent most of his time trying to tune them out). Enjolras slipped on his headphones, apparently intent on ignoring Grantaire completely as they closed up.

“What, my music taste isn’t good enough for you?” Grantaire asked. When Feuilly wasn’t there, Grantaire commandeered the shop’s loudspeakers during close up.

Enjolras gave a long suffering sigh. “If you must know, a friend of mine made a playlist for me, and I’m trying to work my way through it.”

Since when did Enjolras take music recommendations? Courfeyrac moaned that Enjolras only used his iPod to listen to podcasts and the news, and had physically threatened Courfeyrac if he tried to put another Britney Spears song on there ever again.

“You don’t even take Combeferre’s advice when it comes to music. This friend must be pretty important.”

Was he fucking blushing?

“He’s a friend. All my friends are important to me.” Enjolras said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish up before midnight.”

He shoved his headphones back on, his cheeks slightly pink.

Grantaire could hardly believe it. Seriously? Enjolras had a ‘friend’ that made him blush, and probably had made him smile that beautiful, shy smile the day before. It was the ‘him’ from the day before, Grantaire was sure of it. This was not a situation Grantaire had ever anticipated. Of course people constantly threw themselves at Enjolras- he was a handsome, intelligent, charismatic blonde with a fantastic ass. But Enjolras never reciprocated. Ever.

What had been normalcy was now completely thrown out of the loop. There was no reassuring predictability for Grantaire to fall back on. People rarely surprised Grantaire, and now, he had no idea what to make of this.

It was new, and it was uncomfortable. It changed everything and made Grantaire feel like the ground had just shifted. And for once, it made him brave.

Because Enjolras apparently had done the unthinkable, and had a crush on someone. (There was no mistaking the look on his face- it was one Grantaire knew he himself wore too often).  So maybe Grantaire would have to do something impossible too, and let himself be vulnerable.

It wasn’t like he had anything else to lose.

His hands were slightly shaking as he pulled out his phone and opened his email. His message to June1832 was simple.

            **R:** I thought about it, and you’re on. When and where do you want to meet?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Your feedback on the first part was so amazing and sweet. Thank you. 
> 
> Sorry the update took longer than I predicted- I'm bad at guessing how long it will take, plus there was some family stuff happening. Whatever I estimate update wise, double it. It's not out of malice- I'm just super optimistic about my ability to get things written and edited. 
> 
> Feedback whether it's good or bad is always appreciated. Come say hi at babesatthebarricade.com!


	3. A Meeting of Sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...enjoy?

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Jehan said gleefully. “I _told_ you it was a good idea.”

“Don’t gloat,” Grantaire snapped.

“Gloating is our price for helping you,” Bahorel said.

Grantaire rolled his eyes, but didn’t complain (out loud) again. Because he needed their help. Bahorel was lending him some clothes; Grantaire’s usual wardrobe of hole-ridden jeans and graphic t-shirts apparently wouldn’t cut it. Work had just finished, and it was in this small window of time before the Friday meeting that his friends accosted him, since he would go meet June1832 right after the meeting ended.

Joly had snuck behind the counter and brewed a calming herbal tea, and Bossuet told Grantaire jokes to make him relax. Jehan’s offer to help assemble Grantaire’s outfit had been politely declined, so Jehan perched on a stool and supervised, occasionally giving random advice. Some of it was sweet and romantic, some of it offered deep emotional insight and some of it-

“Holy shit, Jehan!” Grantaire said. “We’re just getting coffee. We’re not going to… And even if we _did_ , we wouldn’t do _that_ on the first date!”

Jehan shrugged, completely unabashed. “Your loss.”

Bossuet looked intrigued by Jehan’s suggestion, and whispered something to Joly, who blushed furiously. Bahorel turned to Grantaire.

“That’s the first time you’ve referred to this as a date.”

It was true; Grantaire wanted to keep his and everyone’s expectations low, and so kept calling it “getting coffee” or “meeting face to face”. He had purposefully avoided using the word “date”.

He glared at Jehan who fluttered his eyelashes innocently. “You did that on purpose.”

“Me?” Jehan widened his eyes, and was rewarded by Grantaire flicking him off. Joly and Bossuet chuckled.

Bahorel took advantage of Grantaire’s momentary distractedness to attack his head in a vain attempt to tame Grantaire’s unruly curls.

“This isn’t helping,” Grantaire snapped as Bahorel put him in a headlock.

“What is wrong with your hair?” Bahorel growled, trying to run a comb through. His task was made significantly more difficult by the fact Grantaire was squirming with all his might. He turned to the others. “Lend me a hand.”

Joly and Jehan clamped Grantaire’s legs together and hoisted them up, putting Grantaire in a horizontal, mid-air position. Bossuet steadied Grantaire’s torso. It was an incredibly undignified position to be in, so Grantaire shouldn’t have been surprised when the door swung open and Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras swept in. Of fucking course.

“Look, I’m just saying, the black jeans make your ass look _amazing_ ,” Courfeyrac was arguing. “As opposed to just fantastic.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to retort, but froze when he processed the scene in front of him. “What the-”

“He’s right,” Bahorel said helpfully. “The black jeans do make your ass look amazing.”

“Is there a reason you’re tormenting Grantaire?” Combeferre asked mildly.

“Does there have to be?” Jehan asked, slowly setting Grantaire’s legs back down.

“What are _you_ all up to?” Joly asked pointedly. Grantaire felt a rush of gratitude. He could _not_ discuss this in front of Enjolras.

“We’re, um…” Enjolras turned a slight pink.

Everyone stared. They had never heard him say “um” before.

“Enjolras has to go to an appointment after our meeting. We’re helping him get ready,” Combeferre said, covering smoothly.

“By making his ass look good?” Bossuet quirked an eyebrow.

“Anything for the cause!” Courfeyrac winked.

Jehan squinted at the trio suspiciously. Combeferre had an amazing poker face, so he was acting normally. Courfeyrac and Enjolras on the other hand had more difficulty controlling their emotions. Enjolras looked supremely uncomfortable, and Courfeyrac was too maniacally cheerful; they were hiding something. Combeferre nudged his friends pointedly.

“We’ll leave you to whatever you’re doing. See you in a few.”

“Will do!” Grantaire replied.

Enjolras shot him a thoroughly unimpressed look. Grantaire realized he was still in a headlock.

“Well that was awkward,” Bossuet said.

Grantaire wiggled out from under Bahorel’s arm. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“What? No!” Joly cried. “You look great. You deserve this.”

“Dude, I did not just carry a shitton of expensive clothes halfway across Paris in the rain just for you to stand this guy up.” Bahorel said.

“I don’t know…” Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck.

He was distracted already by thinking about Enjolras and his “appointment”, because that was clearly bullshit. It was obvious what was happening: Enjolras had a date. He might not know he had a date, but he had a date. This wouldn’t be the first time Courfeyrac tried his hand at matchmaking with Enjolras remaining oblivious.

Although, Grantaire thought Courfeyrac had sworn off meddling after the Incident at the Corinthe. Enjolras went on what he thought was a two person study group with a friend of Courfeyrac’s. It ended abruptly and disastrously when said friend put a hand on Enjolras’s thigh. Things went from bad to worse when Enjolras went to the first day of his government class and found out his spurned date was his new teaching assistant.

Even though he swore up and down he thought Enjolras knew it was a date, Courfeyrac was now buying Enjolras coffee for the rest of the semester.

Grantaire would be impressed by how gusty a move setting Enjolras up on _another_ date was, if he didn’t have a stronger desire to punch Courfeyrac in the face. How the hell could he go meet June1832, if all he could think about was Enjolras with some mystery guy, and punching Courfeyrac in the face. Or balls, he hadn’t decided.

“Why don’t you guys go ahead,” Jehan said quietly. “The meeting’s about to start.”

Joly looked at Grantaire worriedly, but Bossuet gently tugged his arm. “Leave them,” he murmured quietly.

Bahorel handed Jehan the comb. “Alright. But you are now responsible for his hair.” He pressed a tin of product into Jehan’s hand. “Just a _dab_ ,” he instructed solemnly.

Jehan took the tin and nodded. He waited until everyone was out before gently working the comb through Grantaire’s curls.

“You’re going on the date, R,” he said.

“No. I’m not. I’m really, really not.”

“This isn’t healthy, Grantaire,” Jehan said. “Look, Enjolras is one of my best friends, and you’re one of my best friends, which is why I know that the way things are now, it’s never going to happen between you two.”

“I know that,” Grantaire said sullenly. He wasn’t an idiot.

Jehan sighed. “I know you know. That probably makes it worse,” he sealed the tin and looked at Grantaire sadly. “But I also know how addictive the pain can be. It’s better to feel something than nothing at all, right?”

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably. Joly was the friend who coddled him when he was a little blue. Bossuet made him laugh when he was in a shitty mood. Bahorel boxed with him when he needed to vent his frustrations. But Jehan- Jehan was the one who talked to him. They’d share cigarettes and lay their souls bare. They turned to each other when they were at their absolute worst, and no one else would understand. Jehan knew him better than all of their friends, and sometimes, better than Grantaire knew himself. And sometimes, Grantaire really appreciated it. But other times, times like now, he hated it, because Jehan was right.

Being in love with someone who despised him, who he had _encouraged_ to despise him was a really fucked up thing to do. It was a habit he couldn’t break either, because the pain had become a part of him.

“At least this way, I know what to expect,” Grantaire said.

“You have to go,” Jehan said. “Even if it’s just to tell June1832 you can’t go through with the date. You should tell him to his face.”

Grantaire exhaled. “Okay.”

Jehan smiled and looped his arm through Grantaire’s. They sat there a little while longer, listening to the sounds of the meeting through the door. They would join the others in a minute, but for now, the two of them enjoyed being in their own little world, leaning against each other, and breathing quietly.

“I’ll walk you there,” Jehan said softly. “For moral support.”

What did he do to deserve Jehan? “Thank you.”

 

 

***

Enjolras straightened up the pile of papers he had set on the table in front of him. _Just get through the meeting. One hour. You can do it_ , he told himself.

Meetings usually weren’t a chore for him to get through; they were usually one of the highlights of his week. But today wasn’t a usual day. It had been an abysmal day, and the only light at the end of the tunnel that was this day was his coffee date with R.

The teaching assistant for his government class, who had it out for him, ever since the Incident at the Corinthe, when Enjolras slightly punched him in the face, had assigned Enjolras the side of arguing against immigration rights for a debate. Of course, he had failed in a spectacular fashion, unable to argue for a point of view he didn’t believe in. And as a consequence, Enjolras’s grade plummeted in a class that he should be passing with flying colors.

His mood hadn’t improved when he got to work. Babet had left a mess in the bookshop area when he had finished his shift, so Enjolras had to clean up after his coworker. And in the process of doing so, he had snagged his jeans and ripped one of the back pockets completely off, leaving an embarrassing square shaped hole on his ass. Feuilly, wonderful, merciful human that he was first of all, didn’t laugh, and secondly, stuck Enjolras behind the register. Of course the downside was Enjolras was pretty terrible at register, but he tried to look at the bright side: no one could see his bright red boxers.

And of course today was the day Grantaire chose to switch his nametag out with one that read “Louis XIV”. Of course, Grantaire had slowly been working his way through French monarchs, and it was only a matter of he decided to use the Sun King. And of _course_ he would choose today, one of the shittiest days in recent memory.

Things started to improve only when Combeferre showed up with Courfeyrac, who was wearing a huge grin.

“I have something for you,” he said, holding up a duffel bag full of what Enjolras recognized as his clothes.

Combeferre grimaced apologetically. “Feuilly told us what happened.”

“This is what happens when you don’t ask me for advice on what to wear before your first big date in forever,” Courfeyrac said gleefully. “The universe tries to correct such grave errors.”

Enjolras had then been forced into the men’s room, where Courfeyrac declared everything Enjolras was wearing, except his Doc Martens unacceptable, and handed him a new shirt- a white button down.

“This seems a little boring,” Enjolras said.

Courfeyrac pulled an offended face. “I’m not done yet.” He shoved him into a black vest that Enjolras didn’t remember buying, or wearing in his life. Then he rolled up the shirt’s long sleeves to Enjorlas’s elbows. “And you’re wearing your red coat?”

“ _Shit_ ,” Enjolras said. He told R he would be able to recognize him by his red pea coat he would wear, and the copy of the student newspaper he would be reading- not that it was half as interesting without R’s column in it. But the coat had gotten ripped and stained at a rally a few weeks ago. He had left it at the dry cleaner’s, but forgotten to pick it up.

“It’s in my car,” Combeferre said. “We’ll drop you off.”

“Now let’s get you a cuppa before the meeting,” Courfeyrac said. “Something calming?”

Enjolras nodded, and followed Combeferre and Courfeyrac out.

“Are you sure about these jeans?” Enjolras grimaced. They were a little tight and made him feel like he was on display.

“Yes,” Courfeyrac said.

“I’m just saying, I like my blue jeans better.”

Courfeyrac opened the kitchen doors. “Look, _I’m_ just saying the black jeans make your ass look amazing. As opposed to just fantastic.”

They had then stumbled upon half of the Amis doing something weird in the kitchen and came to an unspoken mutual decision to abandon their plans for tea and made a hasty retreat. Enjolras tried to forget the whole awkward thing. (Except for what Bahorel said about his ass, because Bahorel never lied, and seemed to know what he was talking about when it came to clothes. It had been a nice little confidence boost for Enjolras’s frayed nerves.)

So Enjolras found himself straightening papers, with Combeferre and Courfeyrac at his side, and Feuilly sitting across from him, waiting for everyone else to finish…whatever they were doing. He looked up when the bell on the door clinked and saw a young man walk in. He looked like he hadn’t quite grown into his tall, lanky frame yet. His freckly face wore a blank, innocent expression.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed,” Feuilly said. “We’ll be open again tomorrow at 10.”

“Oh, sorry!” Courfeyrac. “This is Marius, me and Combeferre’s roommate. I forgot to mention I invited him to come today.”

Marius smiled timidly. Enjolras nodded to him. “It’s always nice to have new recruits,” he said. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Be nice,” Courfeyrac mouthed.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. Why did Courfeyrac feel the need to say that _every time_ he met someone new? He hadn’t met Marius yet, even though Marius had been living at Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s place for months. Courfeyrac had quite literally met Marius on the street, looking lost and confused, found out he was homeless, and promptly offered up his and Combeferre’s couch. Enjolras had assumed it was a temporary thing, but days turned into weeks, and weeks to months. Courfeyrac was very fond of Marius, and had grown protective of him, and Combeferre would never turn away a person in need.

“Do you want something to drink?” Feuilly offered.

“No thanks,” Marius said. “I stopped by a Starbucks before I came here.”

“Starbucks?” Enjolras repeated, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Marius said. “I should have thought to ask if anyone else wanted some before I came.”

Combeferre put a firm hand on Enjorlas’s elbow, anchoring him.

“Well, we’re in a coffee shop,” Feuilly smiled slightly. “So I think everyone is good.”

“Oh,” Marius turned slightly pink. “Right, of course.”

“It was a nice thought,” Feuilly said kindly.

Marius smiled shyly. “Courfeyrac said this is your store?” Feuilly nodded. “It’s nice. I haven’t been here before. I usually just buy them online from Amazon or something.”

Enjolras made a choking sound. Courfeyrac kicked him under the table. Hard.

“But this is nice,” Marius said, oblivious. “I guess I have to come here more in the future.”

Courfeyrac gave Enjolras a look that said _see? He’s trying_. Enjolras tried to give Marius a smile that came across more as a grimace.

“Who’s the new guy?”

Joly, Bossuet and Bahorel filtered in.

“This is Marius.”

“Oh, the dude who’s living on your couch?” Bahorel said.

“He’s our roommate,” Combeferre said, trying to salvage Marius’s dignity.

“Grantaire and Jehan will be a minute,” Joly said. “We should go ahead and get started.”

“Okay,” Enjolras said. They had a lot to talk about, and he wanted to get out of there on time, so he dove right in.

He barely registered Jehan and Grantaire slip in as they were in the middle of debating the next year’s Senate elections and which candidates they thought they should support, if any. Marius had sat quietly through their earlier discussions of their protests and immigration reform. But now, he piped up and was engaged in a fierce debate with the others.

“I think you’re wrong,” Marius insisted Courfeyrac’s eyes became very wide and he frantically shook his head to Marius, who ignored him, or more likely, didn’t notice. “The priority should be reducing the deficit.”

“But if the government were to do what you’re suggesting,” Feuilly argued, “It would mean having to cut a lot of aid programs.”

“These are tough times we’re living in, and there isn’t a perfect solution,” Marius said, “And as a fiscally conservative but socially liberal voter, I think-”

Enjolras slammed the hand that wasn’t pressed against his forehead onto the table. Marius stopped mid-sentence, looking confused. No one dared look at Enjolras, and instead stared at their hands, the ceiling, or Marius. Enjolras’s chair scratched against the floor as he slowly stood up.

“Get out.”

The room was dead quiet for a minute. Combeferre slipped his hand over Enjolras’s, signaling that he would take it from there. Enjolras slid back into his chair reluctantly.

“I think what Enjolras is saying is that we need to wrap things up,” he said calmly. Enjolras scowled. That was _not_ what he was saying. But Combeferre squeezed his hand, and Enjolras knew he might have gone too far, so he remained silent. “We can discuss the Senate elections next time. Last order of business: Grantaire did you have time to do the poster designs for the next protest?”

Grantaire reached into his messenger bag and pulled out his worn sketchpad. And passed it to Combeferre. “These are just some ideas.”

Combeferre flipped through the first pages, and cursed silently under his breath. He angled it away from Enjolras, which naturally made Enjolras want to see even more. He firmly grabbed a corner of the pad and tilted it towards himself. The first design read “I am angry about things”. The second read, “Stop it”. The final read, “We demand to be taken seriously,” which Enjolras was fairly certain was a reference to some American TV show Courfeyrac had forced him to watch one time.

“Are you serious?” Enjolras was on his feet again.

“Enjolras- ” Combeferre’s voice was a warning.

“I ask you to do one thing. One thing! You _asked_ how you could help. I can’t believe I actually thought you would take this seriously.”

Grantaire refused to meet his eye, instead, he twiddled an empty beer bottle between his fingers.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre interrupted. “Go wait in the car. I’ll take care of it.”

The two best friends stared at each other, communicating in their non-verbal way that freaked their friends out. (‘Telepathy’ or ‘witchcraft’ they called it.) If it had been anyone else other than Combeferre, Enjolras would have refused. But he trusted Combeferre to handle this, so without another word, Enjolras took Combeferre’s keys and swept out of the café.

He was in the car for no more than five minutes when Combeferre and Courfeyrac slid in.

“Marius decided to take the Metro home,” Courfeyrac said, giving Enjolras a nasty look. “And when we get home, I get to deal with him. He’s probably traumatized, you _ass_.”

“You’re the one who brought him to the meeting.” Enjolras snapped.

“Yeah, because I thought you would treat my roommate and friend like a decent human being.”

“Enough. We can discuss this in the morning. We have a lot of things we have to talk about then anyway,” Combeferre said.

“Like Grantaire’s protest signs?” Enjolras said sourly.

“I spoke to him about those,” Combeferre said.

“And?”

“In the morning.” Combeferre turned on some jazz music that did nothing for Enjolras’s mood.

It was a short drive, and a very quiet one. Courfeyrac refused to even look at Enjolras. When Combeferre pulled up in front of a cozy looking café, Enjolras practically leapt out of the car, grabbing his red jacket as he went.

Combeferre rolled down the window. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said, tugging on his coat.

Courfeyrac rolled down his window too. Enjolras tensed, wondering if he was going to continue their fight. But instead he said, “Make sure you keep the sleeves on your shirt rolled up to your elbow.”

“Why is that so important?” Enjolras asked.

“Trust me,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s sexy.”

Enjolras looked confusedly at Combeferre, who shrugged. His fashion sense was only marginally better than Enjolras’s.

“Um, thanks,” Enjolras said.

“You’re still an asshole,” Courfeyrac said. “But you can do this.”

 

***

“I can’t do this,” Grantaire said, stopping abruptly about ten feet away from the café. What he needed was to find a huge bottle of something and drink away memories of Enjolras’s disappointment. His disdain was bad enough. But Enjolras had believed in _him_ , and he had failed. That was worse. He hadn’t even failed because he was incapable of doing the poster designs. He failed because he had been afraid to succeed.

“You’re going to do this,” Jehan said. “Because you owe it to June1832, you owe it you your friends who just helped you get ready for this. But most of all, you owe it to yourself. Forget Enjolras. Okay?”

“Okay,” Grantaire said.

Jehan hugged him. “You’re going to be great.” He tried to pull away. “Uh, R?”

“Yes?”

“You have to let go.”

“Can you do me a favor before you go?”

“Do I have a choice?” Jehan asked. Grantaire had a really strong grip.

“Not really.”

“Okay then.”

“Just…tell me what he looks like?” Grantaire asked hopefully. “I…I can’t look. Not yet.”

“Sure,” Jehan smiled. Grantaire released him and the poet went over to the large windows and peered in.

“Well?” Grantaire said after a few agonizing seconds.

“What was he supposed to wear?”

“He’s going to have a copy of the student newspaper. And weararedpeacoat,” Grantaire rushed the last words.

“What was that?”

Grantaire swallowed. “He’s going to wear a red pea coat.”

Jehan frowned. He didn’t have to say anything, because they both knew who the red coat would make Grantaire think of. Jehan didn’t have to say anything, but he did anyway. “ _Forget_ him. Seriously. For fuck’s sake, he didn’t invent the color red. Other people can wear it, and you don’t have to think about him, okay? And let’s give June1832 some credit, okay? He opened himself completely up and connected with a complete stranger, and he’s nice, and patient, and he’s putting himself out there. Enjolras isn’t capable of any of those things, okay?  June1832 is awesome, and way better for you than Enjolras. So forget about him.”

“Fine. He’s forgotten. Do you see him?”

Jehan stood on his tippy toes. “I see the coat. And the newspaper.”

“And?”

Jehan huffed. “There’s someone blocking him. Wait- wait, they’re moving. Oh. The newspaper is blocking his face.” Grantaire kicked a rock in frustration. “Wait. He’s lowering it….Oh fuck.”

“Fuck good? Or fuck bad?” Grantaire said, panicking. Was June1832 so ridiculously good looking that Grantaire didn’t have a shot in hell with him? Or was he not a student, but some creepy old man?

“I think I might have been too hard on Enjolras a moment ago,” Jehan said slowly.

“No, you were right. Forget him,” Grantaire said, although he felt panic rising. How bad was this guy if Jehan was pushing him towards an impossible relationship? “What does he look like?”

Jehan’s voice was tiny when he answered. “Blonde.”

“Okay, blonde,” Grantaire said, trying to construct a mental picture based on the limited information. “Can you be more specific?”

“I’d say he looks kind of like Enjolras,” Jehan’s voice came out squeaky.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “We’re forgetting about Enjolras, remember? I’m done. I don’t want to look at anything that reminds me of him, or think about him.”

“Well, then you probably won’t like June1832 very much.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it _is_ Enjolras.”

Grantaire was at Jehan’s side in less than a second, pressing his face against the glass, and holy shit, Jehan was right, that was Enjolras, and _seriously_? Grantaire didn’t believe in deities or cosmic forces, but at this moment, he believed not only in their existence, but that they were out to get him, because what were the chances? There was Enjolras, seated at a table for two. He folded the newspaper neatly and shifted in his seat nervously.

“But he wasn’t wearing his red coat today,” Grantaire said, not minding how creepy it was he remembered all of Enjolras’s wardrobe choices, because he had bigger things to worry about.

“I guess he changed.”

Jehan tugged Grantaire’s elbow until he moved away from the window, because the last thing they needed right now was for Enjolras to look up and see them stalking him through the window. Jehan walked Grantaire to the curb and pushed on his shoulders until Grantaire sat down.

“What are you going to do?” Jehan asked, plopping down beside him.

“I’m not going in there,” Grantaire said.

Jehan frowned. “You’re going to stand him up?”

“Didn’t you just say I had to forget about him?”

“Because I thought you two could never get along. But obviously, I was wrong. You’ve been getting along for months. ”

“No, you were right. It’s only a matter of time before this whole thing blows up. June1832 likes R, but I doubt Enjolras will ever like me.”

Jehan rubbed circles onto Grantaire’s back soothingly. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

Grantaire shook his head. He couldn’t disappoint Enjolras for a second time today. Jehan squeezed his shoulder and hopped up to his feet.

“Okay. It’s your choice. I’m going to give you some space.”

Grantaire suddenly felt very cold as he heard Jehan’s footsteps walk away. He hugged his knees. Why should he go in there? It wouldn’t end well. He could walk away, and forget about Enjolras, about June1832.

Except he couldn’t. Enjolras’s anxious face was already seared into his mind. Enjolras was probably eagerly looking at every person who walked into the door, probably checking his watch, wondering where R was.

Fuck.

Grantaire staggered up. He couldn’t just leave Enjolras. He had to go in. He had no idea what he was going to say, or if he should even tell Enjolras he was R. He could already see the disappointment, the revulsion on Enjolras’s face. But he had to do something.

But first…he toyed with the end his emerald green scarf. It was what he told June1832 he would wear. A dark green scar with the letter ‘R’ knitted in the corner in white. It had been a gift from Jehan a few Christmases back, and he never wore it- he usually was either too lazy or lacked the foresight. Or he just didn’t care enough to dress warmly. But it had seemed like a good thing to wear when meeting a stranger for the first time. It was a very specific item of clothing, impossible to mistake, which was why he told Juen1832 he would wear it. And it was why he was taking it off now and hanging it on the railing right outside the café. Just in case he needed a way out.

When he reached the door, he paused only for a second before pushing it open. Enjolras looked up excitedly, and his face fell when he realized it was Grantaire. Grantaire forced a smirk onto his face as he sauntered over. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Grantaire drawled. He picked up the newspaper that sat in front of Enjolras. “The student paper? Really?”

Enjolras snatched it back and scowled. “What are you doing here?”

“Just getting coffee. It’s a free country, isn’t it?” Grantaire said.

“Debatable,” Enjolras replied.  “But why are you here, _now_?”

“Still just getting coffee,” Grantaire took off his coat and sat in the seat opposite Enjolras, who looked scandalized.

“You can’t sit there!” he hissed.

“Tyrant.”

“I’m saving it for a…friend,” Enjolras said. His cheeks flushed so slightly, that Grantaire thought he might be imagining it now.

“So this is the mysterious appointment? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a date.”

Enjolras was definitely blushing now. “It’s none of your business. Go sit somewhere else.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like your friend is here yet,” Grantaire said, making himself comfortable. “So I’ll keep you company until then.”

“I don’t need company,” Enjolras said. “I need you to leave.”

“Well I need to see what this mysterious friend looks like. Who could possibly have captured our fearless leader’s heart?”

Enjolras made an impatient noise. “Are you deliberately trying to ruin my day?”

No, but he always seemed to manage to. “That wasn’t my intention when I came here,” Grantaire mumbled. He wasn’t sure Enjolras heard him.

A perky waitress walked up. “I see your friend came,” she winked Enjolras, who scowled. Grantaire’s heart fluttered. Had Enjolras been telling random waitresses about R? “What can I get you?”

“He’s not my friend,” Enjolras said. “And he’s not staying.”

“Coffee. Black.” Grantaire said.

The waitress looked a little confused, but nodded at Grantaire before hurrying away. Enjolras closed his eyes, as if trying to will Grantaire away.

“So, the tin man has a heart, after all?” Grantaire said conversationally. “I never thought I’d see the day where the might Enjolras gets flustered over some guy.”

Enjolras’s eyes flew open at that, and Grantaire was rewarded with his fiery blue glare.

“I’m glad this is all just one big joke to you. But he isn’t _some guy_ ,” Enjolras said coldly.

“Is he another doe-eyed idealist?” Grantaire asked mockingly.

“No, actually,” Enjolras said. “But unlike other people I could mention, he knows how to have a civilized, constructive debate. He’s intelligent and insightful, and I value his opinion. Even if I don’t always agree with it.”

Or ever agree with it, Grantaire thought. He tried to wrap his head around the rest of what Enjolras said. He would use exactly none of those words to describe himself. It made the air leave his lungs; did Enjolras really see R that way? He would be devastated when he realized who R really was.

“Wow. He sounds like _lots_ of fun.”

Enjolras gripped the table, as if willing it to absorb some of his anger.

“Look, I just want to have a nice evening with a nice guy. Okay? And frankly after today’s meeting, I need to be away from you.”

“Is this about the signs?” Grantaire widened his eyes innocently, because pushing Enjorlas’s buttons was irresistible, even now.

For once, Enjolras didn’t rise to the challenge. “Please go.”

There was a desperation in Enjolras’s tone that was almost impossible for Grantaire to deny. His blue eyes were full of emotion and vulnerable.

“Alright.”

 

***

Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief as Grantaire stood up. He didn’t want R to come, see them together, then have to introduce the two of them. Whenever R came. Enjolras glanced at the wall clock for what felt like the millionth time. He didn’t know how punctual R usually was, but he was over 15 minutes late. Apparently getting coffee wasn’t as important to him as it was to Enjolras.

Someone behind Enjolras bumped his shoulder. He ignored it, until he heard the waitress say, “Oh, you moved tables?”

“For now,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras turned sideways in his chair. Grantaire was settled comfortable in the seat right behind him.

“You are impossible.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Grantaire said. “Are you done with your paper? I haven’t read today’s humor column yet.”

Enjolras wanted to ignore him, he really did. Because letting Grantaire ruin his day would be letting Grantaire win, and that would be completely unacceptable.

“Just drink your coffee, and leave.”

“I’d much rather meet your mystery guy. Even if he sounds like a bit of a dud.”

“He is absolutely brilliant, and funny, and incredibly talented. And he’s kind and compassionate.”

There was a long pause. Enjolras glanced at Grantaire, who had an inscrutable expression on his face. When he caught Enjolras’s eye, he rearranged his face so that he wore his usual smirk.

“I guess punctuality isn’t among his virtues,” Grantaire quipped.

Enjolras’s eyes flew to the clock on the wall, and he frowned slightly. “There’s probably traffic or something. If he’s late, I’m sure there’s a good reason.”

Grantaire scoffed. “You’re ridiculous. You keep trying to see the good in people, when it’s not there, like with some guy you don’t even want your friends to meet.”

“You and I are coworkers, not friends,” Enjolras said viciously. Grantaire blanched, but if anything, that pissed Enjolras more, because _really_? Grantaire had spent the past few months antagonizing him, and then was going to get upset that Enjolras said they weren’t friends.

“Of course, I’m just another one of your followers,” Grantaire said, a bitter smile.

“If you’re referring to the A.B.C,” Enjolras said heatedly. “They’re not my followers. That’s not how it works.”

“Sure it is. We’d blindly follow you anywhere, even if it’ll get us arrested or killed.”

Enjolras scoffed. “ _You_ would follow me anywhere?”

“Obviously.”

“Bullshit,” Enjolras said. “I don’t even know why you come to the meetings at all. You sit in the back and joke around and drink, which you could do on your own. But instead you choose to distract us from our work.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, your _work_.”

“Yes. Our work. Some of us care about what’s going on in the world.”

“I never said I didn’t care,” Grantaire said. “I just know that no matter what anyone does it won’t make a difference. It’s a waste of time. You’re a bunch of naïve dreamers who will wake up one day with nothing but bitter disappointment.”

“You think that being detached makes you strong?” Enjolras hissed. “You think that because you decided to be cynical, and chose to give up on everything that you’re smarter than us? Building a wall around yourself to avoid getting hurt or disappointed means you don’t let anything good in either. And that doesn’t mean you’re clever or safe. It just means you’re empty. You’re a shell.”

Grantaire looked like Enjolras had slapped him. Any trace of his usual sardonic was gone and his face became blank.

“Right,” he stumbled to his feet, snatching up his bag. “Right, then I won’t waste any more of your time.”

He threw down a sum of cash that was far too much for a cup of coffee. Enjolras hated that blank look on Grantaire’s face, that carefully constructed look. It was he was so hurt, he had shut everything off, rather than feel anything.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said softly. He didn’t know why he called after him. He didn’t know what he would say if Grantaire stopped and came back.

He didn’t have to find out. Grantaire stiffened for a second when he heard Enjolras say his name. Then he shook his head, and hurried out of the café.

 

 

***

Enjolras looked at every person who walked in, even after he had accepted R probably wasn’t coming, hoping to see a college-aged man wearing a dark green scarf with the letter R knitted in the corner. He tried reading and rereading the student paper, but grew bored quickly. There was hardly anything worth reading there, now that R’s column was gone. Nothing in the paper could hold his attention long enough for him to stop looking at the door, or imagining reasons R was late. Maybe there was a family emergency, or bad traffic. Maybe he was sick.

It wasn’t until the waitress gently told Enjolras that she was very sorry, but she had to close up, that Enjolras finally stood up. She smiled sympathetically.

“I’m sure he had a good reason,” she told him gently.

Enjolras nodded at her politely, buttoning up his coat. He just wanted to get out of there. Because maybe that would help get Grantaire’s face out of his head. The horrible blank expression that made him feel sick to his stomach. He never wanted to see it again, but it kept replaying over and over in his head. And the thing that made it even more awful was knowing that he had caused it.

His apartment calling to him, Enjolras walked down the café steps with heavy feet. It was drizzling lightly. He decided to call a cab, when something caught his eye. A dark green scarf, looped around the railing. His fingers shook as he reached for it. Even before he could examine it, he could see clearly, a large white R in the corner.

Enjolras felt his stomach drop. He felt breathless. R had been there. R had been there, taken one look at him, and decided he wasn’t worth meeting. Enjolras wanted to leave the scarf there. He wanted to go home and delete all his correspondence with R, and forget the entire thing had ever happened. Instead, he folded the scarf up, and stuck it in his pocket. It felt heavy.

Enjolras walked the rest of the way home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The meeting scene got a little long, but I read a headcanon (hawk-and-handsaw.tumblr.com/post/59148681295/i-just-want-one-good-college-au-that-stays-true-to) a few weeks ago, and loved it. I love Marius, and wanted to include him, but he didn't necessarily fit in with the rest of the story, so I thought the headcanon was perfect.  
> You should all follow Hawk-and-Handsaw because she is lovely, and will make your dashboards awesome.
> 
> Also....  
> IN MY DEFENSE, the cafe scene in You've Got Mail/Shop Around the corner is always brutal. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQIjcZLLsug)
> 
> Feedback of any kind is almost as lovely as George Blagden doing song covers. Come say hi at babesatthebarricade.


	4. The Cracks in the Marble

The first thing Grantaire did when he got home from his date – if you could call it that- was fling himself on his bed. Well, no. The first thing he did was grab a bottle of whisky, because he had been purposefully sober for meeting June1832 ( _Enjolras_ he corrected himself), and he need to fix that ASAP. _Then_ he flung himself on his bed.

The sun seemed especially harsh the next morning. Grantaire really, _really_ wanted to pull his blankets over his head, roll over and sleep until the painful ache that filled his body went away. But he had work, and since he was going to be miserable either way, he figured he might as well get paid for it.

His phone rang. He glared at whoever had the audacity to call him before noon on a Saturday morning, but picked up anyway.

“So what happened?” Jehan said, skipping any formalities.

“Tell us!” Bossuet shouted in the background.

“Do you know what time it is?” Grantaire groaned.

“Yes. Time for you to get up and go to work soon,” Jehan replied.

“Was he hot?” Bahorel asked loudly.

“Give me a sec,” Jehan sounded like he was wrestling someone. There were footsteps, a door slam, then silence.

“Jehan?”

“Sorry. We were having brunch at Joly’s, and I tried to be discreet, but they were curious. It’s just me now. So how did it go?”

Grantaire swallowed.

“R?” Jehan sounded concerned. “You still there?”

“It was a disaster.”

Jehan sighed. “Do I need to kick Enjolras’s ass?”

“No. It was me. I fucked it up.”

Grantaire stumbled over to his kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He downed an aspirin.

“How did he react when he found out you were R?”

“He…uh…didn’t?”

“ _What_?”

Grantaire held his phone farther away from his ear. It was too early and he was too hungover to deal with that volume. “I couldn’t tell him. So don’t fucking say anything. Not to him or the others.”

“Of course not. But why couldn’t you tell him?”

Grantaire sighed. “Can we drop this?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can we put this on pause?” Grantaire said. “As you pointed out, I need to get ready for work. We’ll talk later.”

“I’m not going to forget,” Jehan warned him.

“I know. I just need to think about things. We’ll talk Monday, okay? Before your poetry class?”

Jehan sighed. “Okay. If you need time, fine. Monday it is. We’ll meet at the Corinthe.”

“Can’t wait,” Grantaire said dryly.

After a quick shower that made him feel vaguely human again, he trudged off to work. That fresh, clean feeling didn’t last long, because it was raining, cold and disgusting outside. Grantaire was barely on time, and purposefully avoided look at the book section as he slunk towards the back.

He wished he could be angry at Enjolras, because it would make dealing with the overwhelming pain easier. But he could never stay angry at Enjolras. He didn’t think he had ever really been angry to begin with. He provoked Enjolras, and really, Enjolras hadn’t said anything that Grantaire didn’t already know. Still, he didn’t want to accidently catch a glimpse of the blonde, didn’t want to see that look of disdain and hatred.

There was a bit of a morning/early afternoon rush that for once, Grantaire didn’t mind. Fulfilling unnecessarily complicated orders kept him distracted. Eventually, the customers petered out, and Grantaire was left alone with his thoughts and his cell phone, which felt heavier and heavier in his pocket by the minute.

He didn’t want to check his email, because nothing good would come of it. Enjolras would probably be furious with him, or worse, maybe he wouldn’t have sent him an email at all. Maybe he realized R wasn’t worth his time and decided to ignore him. It would absolutely destroy Grantaire, but really, he had barely felt worthy of June1832’s attentions. Now that he knew it was Enjolras, he was even more shocked that the whole thing had lasted as long as it did. Enjolras probably didn’t have time for assholes who stood him up and decided to pretend the whole thing never happened.

Curiosity eventually won out against any sense of self preservation. He saw Enjolras had sent him several emails, and he suddenly very afraid. Of course, he knew from experience, being ignored by Enjolras was worse than being ripped apart with words, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to read the contents of the messages.

The first one was sent close to midnight. He braced himself as he clicked.

            **June1832:** Are you okay?

That was it. That was the entire message. ‘Are you okay?’ That wasn’t what he had expected at all.

There were more messages. Grantaire clicked on the next one.

            **June1832:** Please message me back so I know you’re alright.

Then the next one. It was a longer message.

            **June1832:** Will you at least let me know what I did wrong?  I know you were at the café.

Shit, Grantaire thought. He left his stupid scarf there. He continued reading, even while inwardly cursing his own carelessness.

            **June1832:** Unless some unforeseen crisis popped up right as you were about to come in, I have to assume it was something I did, but I have no idea what it could have been. I would apologize that I don’t look how you imagined I do—

Grantaire had to pause again to laugh. Did _Enjolras_ seriously think someone found his looks off-putting?

            **June1832:** — but I don’t think you would be that shallow. I’ve been up all night, and I can’t think of what I did. You promised you would tell me if I upset you, so please, tell me.

The words were glaring through the screen. Grantaire groaned. Of course Enjolras would hold him to that stupid promise he made. But what was he supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry, it’s not you. It’s me. I can’t be the man you want me to be, and so instead I decided to be an ass, and all you’re guilty of is telling me the truth’?

Grantaire almost wished Enjolras was furious. He was starting to get angry himself. What the hell was Enjolras playing at, being concerned for his well-being? R didn’t deserve that kindness. Enjolras had physical proof in the form of his scarf that he had been there, and left him there, and yet he still thought he should check and make sure R was okay. Damn idealist. He wanted Enjolras to be disgusted with him, as he should be, give up, and leave him alone.

He was about to ex out of his email, when another one came through.

            **June1832** : If you want me to leave you alone, tell me. Just say something.

Grantaire frowned. Enjolras didn’t text or check his email or do _anything_ at work except work. One time, on a particularly slow morning, Courfeyrac tried to ask Enjolras what he wanted for his birthday, and was shooed away and told to talk to him during break time. Enjolras must be really upset if he was breaking his own self-imposed rule (Feuilly was lenient with cell-phone use, as long as there were no customers).

Grantaire peered over to the book section, and saw to his surprise, Combeferre helping a middle-aged woman with a stack of paperbacks. Combeferre never worked Saturdays. Grantaire’s first instinct was to panic that something had happened to Enjolras. He must be in a coma, if he was missing work. Then he remembered Enjolras had literally just emailed him, and therefore was probably not on his deathbed.

Still, something was off. Grantaire waited until the customers left, and Combeferre was alone again. He approached him cautiously. Combeferre noticed him and nodded.

“Combeferre,” Grantaire said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone. “I thought you didn’t usually work Saturdays.”

“I’m covering for Enjolras,” Combeferre said.

That was it. Grantaire sighed inwardly. He could see the benefits of being friends with Combeferre. He was brilliant, patient, and kind. And discreet. Very discreet. And unfortunately, that did Grantaire exactly zero good right now.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.”

Grantaire suppressed a groan. This was like pulling teeth. If only Courfeyrac were here, he could probably get at least a tidbit of information from him. Wait…where was Courfeyrac?  He was scheduled to work today. Grantaire saw an opportunity.

“I’m only asking, because I noticed Courfeyrac is missing today too. I thought one or both of them might be sick. It’s not like them to miss work.”

Combeferre hesitated and Grantaire tried not to gloat. It was harder to avoid answering a much more specific question without appearing rude, which Combeferre never was. But when the answer came, Grantaire instantly felt terrible again.

“Enjolras was a little under the weather. Courfeyrac is making sure he gets better.”

“Is it anything serious?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He seemed fine at the meeting last night.”

“And at the café?” Combeferre’s eyes met Grantaire, and he suddenly felt very cold inside. He wondered how much Enjolras had told him, and exactly what he had said.

“Um…yeah. He seemed fine then too,” Grantaire mumbled. He did not like the look in Combeferre’s eyes. The man was scarily astute. “I guess…. Tell him I said to get well. And let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“You know,” Combeferre said. His tone left Grantaire feeling uneasy, and he had to force himself to maintain eye contact. “I find that sometimes getting a nice message from someone can lift one’s spirits immensely. I’m sure Enjolras would appreciate hearing from a friend.”

Shit. He didn’t know. Did he know? How the fuck could he _possibly_ know? He couldn’t know.

“Yeah. I mean, we’re not exactly friends, but pass on the message anyway?” Grantaire had to work hard to make sure his voice didn’t come out in squeaks.

“I will.” Combeferre gave Grantaire one last look that sent chills down his spine before retreating back to the bookshelves.

Once he was sure Combeferre wasn’t emerging any time soon, Grantaire went back behind the counter, and pulled out his phone and opened up his email. He fingers trembled slightly as he typed out a quick message.

            **R** : I’m sorry about yesterday.  It wasn’t anything you did. I just can’t meet you, and I can’t tell you why. You deserve more explanation than that, I know, but I can’t give it to you.

He hit send before he could change his mind. It didn’t take long before he got a message back.

            **June1832:** That doesn’t make any sense. You had no qualms about meeting me until you got to the café. Something changed, and the only thing that was different was you saw me.

Grantaire scowled at his phone. Could Enjolras ever let _anything_ go?

            **R:** just drop it. please.

The reply was instantaneous.

            **June1832:** I can’t. You’re important to me, and something is clearly wrong.

Grantaire accepted the fact that he was going to have to deal with this now, and prayed Combeferre wouldn’t wander over and see him emailing Enjolras.

            **R:** nothing u can fix. u can’t fix everything

            **June1832:** I can try. I fucked up last night.

            **R:** i told u, not ur fault

            **June1832:** Not just with you. There was someone else that I completely messed things up with.

Grantaire felt his pulse quicken.

            **R:** oh? do tell

            **June1832:** How is this fair? You won’t give me an actual explanation for last night, but I’m supposed to tell you about my most recent failings?

Damn. He had a point. But Grantaire really, really wanted to hear Enjolras’s take on what had happened last night.

            **R:** ur the one always complaining life isn’t fair

            **June1832:** Yes. But then I try to make it fair.

            **R:** i believe u have it in u to be the bigger person

He waited to see if that persuaded him. Just when he was convinced Enjolras decided he had had enough of their conversation, Enjolras surprised him.

            **June1832:** While I was waiting for you, one of my co-workers came in. I was in a horrible mood, for a lot of reasons. And I took it out on him.

Grantaire swallowed.

            **R:** u shouldn’t feel bad. he probably doesn’t care

            **June1832:** Probably not. He doesn’t take anything I say seriously. But that doesn’t give me the right to take my bad day out on him. I think I might have crossed a line. I said something I didn’t really mean, and I upset him. I have to find a way to apologize.

            **R:** i didn’t think u ever said things u didn’t mean

            **June1832:** I try not to. But this guy has a way of getting under my skin and making me lose my temper. He’s infuriating.

Good, they were back in familiar territory. Grantaire pissing off Enjolras- that he knew how to deal with. Not an uncertain, remorseful Enjolras.

            **June1832:** I just know he’s capable of doing so much, but he chooses not to. I don’t understand him.

Grantaire wished he would go back to saying mean things about him. He didn’t want Enjolras to believe he was capable of more. He wasn’t, and he was tired of disappointing the blonde.

            **R:** let it go. from what ur saying i’m sure he doesn’t even care

            **June1832:** I can’t let it go.

            **R:** i’m sensing that’s a thing w/ u

            **June1832:** I was in the wrong. I need to make it right.

He really didn’t want Enjolras talking to him, apologizing for things that weren’t his fault. He didn’t know if he would be able to do that. But he didn’t know how to argue more without arousing Enjolras’s suspicion, so he reluctantly elected to let it go.

            **June1832:** Is there any way I can convince you to let me make things right between us?

            **R:** told u. there’s nothing. i’m not upset. i’m sorry u r

            **June1832:** Can I still talk to you?

A wise man would say no. A wise man would walk away while he had the chance.         

            **R:** if u want to

            **June1832:** Of course I do.

Grantaire smiled. He would probably end up getting crushed again. He still wouldn’t be able to be the man Enjolras wanted him to be. But for now, selfishly having this, Enjolras’s friendship and approval, made him happy.

            “A coffee to go, please.”

The phone slipped out of Grantaire’s hands when he recognized Combeferre’s voice. There was a small, almost imperceptible smugness in his tone as he set his reusable coffee mug on the counter.

            “Done already?” Grantaire said, forcing his voice to stay calm, starting Combeferre’s usual order.

            “It’s almost four,” Combeferre said. “But I guess time goes by faster when you’re distracted.”

            Grantaire made a noncommittal hum of agreement.

            “Good talk?” Combeferre accepted his coffee cup. “With whoever you were messaging?”

            “Uh…yeah. I think.”

            “Good.” Combeferre buttoned up his jacket. “See you later.”

            “Yeah. See you.”

           

***

Grantaire’s apartment was too small. He didn’t feel as suffocated as he had that morning when he woke up, but he still felt cooped up. He needed a walk. He slipped out of his work pants and shoes and put on a pair of jeans and Converses. He wrestled a beanie over his unruly curls, grabbed a hoodie, and headed out.

He got quite a surprise when he stepped outside the apartment building, and found Enjolras standing there trying to balance two cups of coffee as he rang the buzzer. He looked about as startled as Grantaire felt.

“Enjolras?” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

He looked terrible. Or as terrible as Enjolras could look. His eyes were slightly red, and he looked tired to his very core.

“I’m here to see you.”

Obviously. “Why?”

Enjolras lifted his chin, something Grantaire noticed he did whenever he was bracing himself for an argument. “I wanted to talk about last night.”

“Right. Last night. It was chilly with a full moon, but unfortunately the drizzle kept blocked the view.”

Enjolras exhaled impatiently. “We really do need to talk about what happened last night. But, we can do it later, if you’re going somewhere.”

“I just wanted to go for a walk.”

“Can I join you?” Enjolras asked, looking uncertain. Grantaire hated that expression on his face. It didn’t belong there.

He shrugged, as if it really made no difference to him, when in reality, he felt lightheaded at the thought. Enjolras seemed to find this good enough, and fell into step with Grantaire. After walking about half a block, he thrust one of the coffee cups at Grantaire. He accepted the small peace offering.

 “I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just got it black.”

“Good job. That’s how I like it.”

Enjolras nodded, and Grantaire could practically see him mentally filing away this small detail. Most people assumed Enjolras didn’t pay attention to anything except his causes, but he was surprisingly good at remembering details about people.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras blurted out. Grantaire nearly choked on his hot beverage. He thought Enjolras might beat around the bush, and make small talk as most people would. He should have expected Enjolras to get straight to the point.

“It’s okay.”

“But it’s not,” Enjolras insisted. “I said some incredibly rude things to you. I seem to say a lot of rude things to you, actually.”

Grantaire shrugged. “And I say them to you.”

“I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. And for the record, I don’t think you’re empty. I was just frustrated. I apologize. ”

 _But I am empty_ , Grantaire thought. He looked up. Enjolras’s face was eager as he waited for Grantaire’s response.

“Apology accepted. And I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth.”

“Do you ever-” Enjolras stopped himself.

“What?”

It was quiet, except for the sound of their shoes on the pavement. It was late in the evening, and already dark. It was another chilly night- the coldest of the month so far. Grantaire resigned himself to a silent walk, waiting for Enjolras to make a hasty excuse and leave, now that his mission of apologizing had been accomplished.

“Do you ever wish we could start over?” Enjolras finally said.

Grantaire stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

Enjolras turned and faced him. “Our friends are friends. We have a lot of similar interests, even if we have different opinions on them. I think that we might’ve been able to get along. Be friends even.”

They could have been friends, Grantaire silently thought. Until he found a way to mess it all up.

“Maybe.”

“Do you think that maybe we could try? I know I’m not your favorite person, but I think we should try. At the very least, we could try to be friendly, if not friends.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras’s hopeful smile. “Why the hell not?”

There were a lot of reasons why not, but in the face of Enjolras’s blinding smile, they seemed unimportant. They started walking again.

“So you weren’t at work today,” Grantaire said lightly, as if he were just trying to make conversation.

“Oh, yeah. I was…under the weather.”

“Really?”

Enjolras chuckled. Grantaire wanted to memorize that sound. “No. I was kidnapped, actually.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Did the government finally get a hold of you?”

This earned another laugh. “Courfeyrac, actually. I was in sort of an awful mood, so he and Combeferre decided I needed to take a day off of work. I was subjected to comfort food and really awful movies. Is that really what people do when they’re upset?”

Grantaire had an adorable mental picture of Courfeyrac forcibly sitting Enjolras down to watch romantic comedies and shoving pints of ice cream at him.

“Some people find it helpful.”

“It was awful,” Enjolras shuddered. “I managed to escape.”

“And you came here.” Grantaire said. Enjolras nodded. “Why the awful mood? Did your date last night not go well?”

“It didn’t go at all,” Enjolras said, looking down. “He never showed.”

“I’m sorry.”

Enjolras shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”

Grantaire didn’t have anything he could say about that, so he gestured towards some benches. They sat down.

“I’m sure he had a good reason,” Grantaire said cautiously.

“If he does, he won’t tell me. I think I did something, but he won’t tell me what.”

Grantaire wanted to grab Enjolras by the shoulders, shake him, and scream “It’s. Not. You.” at him. But that might compromise his cover. He settled with a milder version of that.

“Not everything is about you. Maybe he was scared.”

“But why?” Enjolras looked at him with wide, earnest eyes. Grantaire sighed. He couldn’t expect Enjolras to understand something as  basic and human as fear.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire exhaled. “Maybe he thought you wouldn’t like him.”

Enjolras frowned. “Of course I like him. I think I’ve made that clear.”

“I don’t know if you want my opinion-”

“I do,” Enjolras interrupted eagerly. “I’ve heard what Combeferre and Courfeyrac think, and of course I value what they have to say. But they’ve been hearing about this from the beginning. It might be nice to get an outside perspective.”

 _Well, you’re not getting one_ , Grantaire thought. “It sounds like this friend of yours might be going through some personal stuff. It might be best for both of you if you let him go.”

Enjolras looked outraged. “If you’re right, and he’s having problems, how could I leave him alone?”

“Well, he’ll probably end up hurting you again.”

“I don’t care,” Enjolras said fiercely.

With a start, Grantaire realized he had Enjolras completely wrong. He always placed Enjolras on a pedestal. When he called him a god amongst men, he was only half-joking. Because Enjolras seemed perfect: ridiculously good looking, unyielding in his convictions and scarily intelligent. He cared about everyone and everything to the point of excess, and Grantaire stood in the sidelines, waiting for him to get his first taste of bitter disappointment, before crashing and burning. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to, but it was something he knew to be inevitable.

But now, looking at the fiery man before him, Grantaire realized that that time had already come and gone. Enjolras’s ferocity only barely covered up his obvious physical and emotional exhaustion. No one, not even Enjolras could race through life wearing their heart on their sleeve and not have it crushed. With sudden clarity, Grantaire understood that being stood up by R wasn’t the first time Enjolras had been hurt, nor would it be the last. What made Enjolras extraordinary wasn’t that he had never faced disappointment or had his heart broken.

What made Enjolras extraordinary was he pulled himself up after each failure and tried _harder_. Grantaire couldn’t fathom how a person was able do that- completely disregard pain and plunge again headfirst, but Enjolras could. Enjolras wasn’t just a well-spoken, passionate machine of revolution. Grantaire tried to reconcile his version of Enjolras with what he knew about June1832. He had doubts and hopes and dreams like the rest of them.

Grantaire always thought Enjolras was naïve, but that wasn’t true. He willingly flew high, well aware that he might fall. Grantaire had always known Enjolras was brave, but it dawned on him that Enjolras was brave in more ways than he had previously realized. Enjolras was brave, and he was utterly human, and _beautiful_. With a small sigh, Grantaire realized he had just fallen even more in love with the man at his side.

“Well then,” he said after a long silence. “I think you need to give him some time.”

“Time,” Enjolras repeated. “That’s what Combeferre said.”

Grantaire snorted, while making a mental note to avoid the hell out of Combeferre for the next forever. He was way too good at reading people for Grantaire to be comfortable around him. “Smart guy, that Combeferre.”

Enjolras smiled fondly. “Sometimes it’s a little obnoxious how right he is.”

Grantaire laughed, and they were both silent. Unlike earlier, it was a comfortable one. It was only broken when Enjolras’s phone started ringing. He looked at the caller ID, and scrunched up his nose in distaste. (“ _Sorry_ ” he mouthed). Grantaire wished he had a camera to immortalize that face.

“Hi Courfeyrac,” Enjolras said. “Yes, I escaped. Are you still at my apartment? Well I’m not coming back until you’re gone.”

Grantaire couldn’t make out the individual words, but Courfeyrac’s indignant voice was unmistakable. Enjolras was fighting back a smile.

“If Combeferre is there, I guess I’ll come back. Since I know you can be restrained. But I swear if you make me watch one more rom com, I’m jumping out the window next time. And I’ll tell the police you pushed me.” He hung up. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries.”

“I should go.”

“I gathered as much.”

Enjolras stood up. “Thanks for listening. You didn’t have to.”

“My pleasure.”

Enjolras eyes flickered to his face, as if not sure if Grantaire was being sincere or not. “We could do it again sometime?”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Enjolras shuffled his feet, like he was debating something.

“There’s a lecture tomorrow, downtown,” Enjolras said. “About how art was used as a political tool in the nineteenth century.”

Grantaire stared. Was that an invitation?

“I was going to go, because the lecturer is a brilliant political professor who’s coming from Oxford, and I’ve been dying to hear him talk forever. But Combeferre mentioned you like art-”

Did he? That sly bastard. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle him or buy him flowers. Or stick to the avoidance plan.

“-and I thought you might be interested,” Enjolras continued. “So if you’re not busy, do you want to come?”

Did he want to go somewhere with Enjolras? Without the rest of their friends?

“We’re trying to be friendly,” Enjolras reminded him, misinterpreting Grantaire’s lack of a reply. “I get it though, if it’s too much.”

“No. It sounds great,” Grantaire said eagerly.

“Oh. Good.”

“Do you have the time and location?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, flustered. He seemed surprised Grantaire agreed to go with him. “Oh, wait. No. I left the details back at my apartment.”

“Text them to me,” Grantaire said. He was proud of how casually he said that, giving no indication they caused butterflies to flare up in his stomach.

“I don’t have your number,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire took Enjolras’s phone and added his name and number to the contacts, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “There.”

“Great,” Enjolras pocketed his phone. “Well I’m that way.” He jerked his head.

“And I’m that way,” Grantaire said. He thought about offering to walk Enjolras home, but decided it would be too much. Too much for who though, he wasn’t sure.

He had reached the steps to his apartment when his phone buzzed. It was a text from an unfamiliar number, with details to the event. Grantaire saved Enjolras’s number on his phone. Another text quickly followed.

            **Enjolras:** Your apartment is on the way for me, so I could meet you at your place?

Grantaire sent a message saying that was would be fine.

            **Enjolras:** Looking forward to it.

            **Enjolras:** Good night.

Grantaire typed a quick “Good night” back.

 

***

Waking up Sunday morning was a much more pleasant experience than the morning before. No hangover, no grogginess, and Grantaire even felt a little…happy. Was that what that was? Happiness?

He took a shower, and spent a lot more time than he usually did picking out what he was going to wear. He half-wished his friends were there again to help him choose, but his head still hurt a little from Bahorel and Jehan’s attempts to tame his hair, and decided maybe this was better.

Once dressed, he powered up his laptop, and was scanned the news. He was in the middle of browsing some online art galleries, when a ding notified him he had a new message. It was a link to a newspaper column from Enjolras. He instantly stopped what he was doing and clicked on it, already formulating a response.

He was just glad things between him and Enjolras were back to normal. Sort of.

There was another ding.

            **June1832:** I’m curious to hear your thoughts on this.

            **June 1832:** In email, or maybe in person sometime?

            **June1832:** Because I really hope we can meet eventually. When you’re comfortable with it, of course.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. Was this Enjolras’s idea of ‘giving it time’?

            **R:** Maybe.

The buzzer rang. Grantaire got up and pushed the intercom button.

            “You ready?” Enjolras’s voice was tinny through the box.

            “Yeah. Let me grab my coat. I’ll be right down.”

Grantaire snatched up his jacket from the back of his chair. He caught a glimpse of a blonde figure walking down the steps before leaning against the fence, phone in hand. Typing. Shit.

Grantaire ran over to his computer just as it dinged again.

            **June1832:** Okay. Let me know.

            **R:** I will. I’m in the middle of a project of sorts.

            **June1832:** That sounds interesting.

            **June1832:** You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.

Grantaire thought about the text Enjolras had sent him the night before. “Looking forward to it”, and the way he had laughed, and his smile.

            **R:** Well, it’s a work in progress. I’ll let you know when I’m close.

            **June1832:** Okay. Good.

            **June1832:** I should go, actually.

            **R:** Me too. Talk to you later.

Grantaire shut his computer, wearing a huge smile as he tugged on his coat and walked out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I'm not a horrible person. 
> 
> Come talk to me at babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com. Comments of any kind are appreciated (or just say hi).


	5. A light in the Dark

Enjolras tugged on his coat after a long shift. Some customers had completely messed up the shelves’ organizational system, so he had to stay well past his shift to fix it. As he mindlessly straightened and realphabatized (something he could practically do in his sleep at this point), he had been mentally composing a rebuttal to one of R’s emails.

They were talking again, which was…good. At first Enjolras had been so thrilled that R didn’t hate him and still wanted to talk to him that he hadn’t noticed anything different. But it had been just over a week since the no show, and now Enjolras couldn’t help but notice R had been more reserved than before.

He wanted to get things back to the way they were and then some. He wanted to meet R so he could see the expression in his eyes when he argued about current events. He wanted to see his face when he went on his rants. But now R was acting skittish (or as skittish as you could be via email), and Enjolras had to back off a little when it came to bringing up rescheduling their meeting.

“Heading out?”

Enjolras looked up. Grantaire was behind him, zipping up his worn hoodie.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said.

“Want to get a bite?”

Enjolras had just been expecting Grantaire to bid him a good night and then go on his way. “Sure.”

Grantaire grinned. “Come on. I know this café that’s open 24/7.”

For once, Enjolras was content to follow. He had heard his friends say Grantaire knew all the best places to eat in Paris, but he himself had never benefited firsthand from this knowledge.

He hadn’t spent time alone with Grantaire since they went to the lecture together a week ago. Their arguments about the lecture’s contents had remained friendly, and Grantaire had _said_ he enjoyed himself, but Enjolras could never tell if he was being sincere or not. So Grantaire’s invitation was a welcome sign that maybe their tentative friendship was growing.

The café turned out to be fairly close to the Musain. Grantaire held the door open for Enjolras, who was grateful to hurry in from the cold. All of the waitresses seemed to know Grantaire, and ushered him to his “usual” booth. Enjolras carefully examined the menu, and was acutely aware of Grantaire’s eyes on him.

“Have you already decided?”

Grantaire nodded. “I have the menu pretty much memorized by now.”

“I think I’ll just have a coffee,” Enjolras said, setting the menu down.

“No.” Grantaire said.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, you just finished a long shift, and I bet you didn’t eat anything before that.”

“I had an apple this morning,” Enjolras mumbled. And only because Combeferre had given it to him, and refused to leave until he watched Enjolras eat the whole thing.

“That’s what I thought,” Grantaire said. “You need actual sustenance. If Combeferre finds out I took you to a restaurant and let you get away with just a cup of coffee, he would murder me, and make it look like an accident.”

By the time the waitress came to take their order, Grantaire had convinced Enjolras to get a sandwich, with a side salad. (“You need to eat vegetables, or you will die.”) Grantaire started talking about a new art exhibit he went to with Jehan that he was positive Enjolras would have hated. They both tread lightly; Enjolras because he didn’t want to jeopardize their tentative friendship by getting into an argument. Grantaire, it appeared was covering small talk so he could bide his time before attacking.

After their waitress brought their orders, Grantaire waited until Enjolras had some food in his stomach before falling silent, and fixing Enjolras with an intense look.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said. “Something’s clearly been bothering you all day.”

Had he been that obvious? Enjolras was ready to hastily change the subject, but Grantaire was looking at him so gently and with such obvious concern, that Enjolras decided to take a chance and confide in him.

“You remember that friend I told you about?”

“The asshole who stood you up?” Grantaire said harshly.

“He’s not an asshole.”

Grantaire chuckled like he seriously doubted that. “Okay, then the _wonderful_ human being who stood you up.”

“He still doesn’t want to meet me,” Enjolras said gloomily stabbing a tomato.

“I thought you were going to give it more time,” Grantaire said casually.

“I just want to know why. We had been getting along so well, and now he doesn’t even want to talk about meeting.”

Grantaire shifted in his seat. “It probably has nothing to do with you.”

Enjolras scoffed. He couldn’t forget the fact that R had _been there_. He found it hard to believe that R deciding not to go in had nothing to do with him.

“But he was there,” Enjolras argued. “He was there, took one look at me, and decided he didn’t want to meet me.”

He didn’t know why he was telling Grantaire this. It had taken hours of experienced coaxing for him to tell Combeferre and Courfeyrac all the details of what had happened. But for some reason, confiding in Grantaire felt easy. Natural, even.

Except now Grantaire was staring at him incredulously.

“What?”

“No person in their right mind would look at you and think that. There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation why he didn’t go in that has nothing to do with you.”

Enjolras harrumphed.

“Maybe…he’s someone famous,” Grantaire said. “And he’s afraid that you would only like him for his money.”

“That is ridiculous,” Enjorlas said, feeling slightly offended.

“He could be a werewolf. He was about to go into the café, then felt himself starting to turn. What was the moon like on the night of your date?”

“I thought you said there was a reasonable explanation.”

“You have _no_ imagination,” Grantaire sighed. “Okay. Maybe he’s a serial killer.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “A serial killer who wrote for a student paper?”

“Serial killers need something to do to fill their time other than murder,” Grantaire said reasonably.

“So he chose to write opinion columns?”

Grantaire shrugged.

“Maybe he’s unattractive, saw you, and got nervous.”

“R knows I don’t care what he looks like,” Enjolras said. Because, surely, R knew how much Enjolras admired and cared about him. He hadn’t been subtle about that. He could have an extra arm growing somewhere, and that wouldn’t change the fact that Enjolras thought he was absolutely brilliant.

Something flickered in Grantaire’s eyes. He looked strangely vulnerable, like he wanted to push the issue, but was too afraid to. Then he blinked, and had his usual mocking expression on, and Enjolras was sure he must have imagined it.

“I’m talking hideous,” Grantaire said. “Like if you took Quasimodo and the Phantom of the Opera and made them into one person.”

Enjolras shrugged.

“His physical appearance doesn’t matter to me, if he’s hideous as you so put it, or if he’s the most attractive person on the planet. I only care about his mind and personality, both of which, I can assure you, are spectacular.”

“Only you could say you don’t care about appearance and sound halfway believable,” Grantaire mused. “Okay, maybe R’s a conservative.”

“First of all, _no_. Second of all, why are you trying to get me to hate him?”

Grantaire blinked before answering carefully. “I guess it’s because you think a lot of this guy. You’re expecting him to be really great, and if you ever meet him…I don’t want you to get your hopes up then be disappointed.”

“I won’t be,” Enjolras said confidentially.

Grantaire looked down. “You can’t know that.”

This unusual seriousness made Enjolras want to reach out and put his hand over Grantaire’s. He hated the grave expression on his face. He wanted to tell Grantaire that whatever was bothering him, it would be okay. His hand twitched, and he was ready to inch it forward, but Grantaire grinned, his solemnity vanished.

“Maybe he’s another kind of supernatural being, and _did_ show up, but you just didn’t see him, because you lack the Sight.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, and Grantaire eventually steered the conversation away from R, and onto a new band he had discovered that he wanted to know Enjolras’s thoughts on.

 

***

Enjolras wasn’t quite sure when hanging out with Grantaire became a regular thing, but over the next few weeks, he found himself spending more and time with the resident cynic. Except…it didn’t feel right to pigeon-hole Grantaire into the role of a disruptive pessimist anymore. Not since he had gotten to know the man and seen more of the real Grantaire.

He was perplexing, to say the least. He was a cynic, not by nature, but by choice, it seemed. Enjolras wondered what could have happened to make a person choose to always believe the worst, rather than risk getting their hopes up. He wondered, but didn’t dare ask; asking would cause Grantaire to retreat, and then they might go back to their old dynamic.

Enjolras realized that getting to know Grantaire was a privilege. Of course, Grantaire would scoff at such a notion, but that didn’t make it any less true to Enjolras. Because beneath that sullen and prickly exterior was a dazzling soul that Enjolras had somehow missed before. Grantaire was brilliant- like really, really intelligent. He was funny, and gentle, and kind. As Enjolras slowly peeled back the layers, he discovered a beautiful heart that was full of love.

Grantaire did his best to hide himself, and so Enjolras did his best not to scare him off. Somehow, Grantaire had decided to trust him enough to slowly open up, and Enjolras was determined not to mess anything up.

On days when they both worked, they made a habit of getting food together. Grantaire said someone other than Combeferre had to make sure Enjolras didn’t die of starvation. Enjolras reciprocated once by paying for a cup of coffee for Grantaire at work. He then insisted on going behind the counter and making the coffee himself (“You can’t make it yourself, Grantaire. I’m treating you.”) After tasting the coffee, Grantaire made Enjolras promise to never, ever make him coffee again.

So Enjolras didn’t. He clipped out articles he thought were interesting, or dragged Grantaire to the used book section to show him his latest discoveries. They had developed a comfortable rapport. That wasn’t to say they had stopped arguing. They still disagreed more than half the time. But when they argued, it wasn’t to win, it was because they enjoyed pushing each other’s points of view.

On one Monday afternoon, Enjolras waited for Grantaire to finish his shift. They were going to go see a documentary together. He scrolled through his email, and saw a new one from R. It was in response to one he had sent R, asking the status on the mysterious project R insisted he had to finish before they could meet.

            **R:** i think it’s going well; it’s hard to tell sometimes

He couldn’t be any more vague if he tried. Enjolras typed a response.

            **June1832:** Care to explain…at all?

R responded faster than Enjolras was expecting.

            **R:** only that the project is a complicated one requiring great finesse

            **R:** and it’s important i don’t fuck it up

Enjolras scowled. It would be easier if R had just flat out said “No, fuck off, I never want to see you” or “Yes. Let’s meet tomorrow”. This state of limbo was driving him slowly insane, as was the lack of information coming from R.

“Hey.”

Grantaire was standing in front of the table Enjolras had claimed.

“Hey,” Enjolras shoved his phone in his pocket.

“Were you talking to the stander-upper?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Would you stop calling him that?”

“I take that as a yes.”

“How did you know?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Lucky guess. We should go, or we’re going to be late.”

Enjolras hastened to his feet.

“I’m surprised Combeferre isn’t coming,” Grantaire said. “This seems right up his alley.”

“I didn’t ask him,” Enjolras said. “I just asked you.”

Grantaire’s looked surprised. “Well, if you brought Combeferre he’d just play referee,” he said teasingly. “He always stops us from fighting just when it’s getting good.”

Enjolras chuckled, but that wasn’t it at all. As soon as he had heard about the documentary, he thought of asking Grantaire, which was weird, because usually Combeferre _would_ be his go to person.

It was because he wanted to spend time with Grantaire- just Grantaire. He glanced over at him. Grantaire was still smiling, and he looked beautiful. He _was_ beautiful. Everything Enjolras had learned about Grantaire in the last few weeks clicked into place, and his mouth went dry.

“You okay?” Grantaire looked concerned.

“Yeah.”

No. Enjolras was totally fucked.

 

***

Enjolras was sandwiched between Combeferre and Courfeyrac on their couch. The latter had his legs sprawled across Enjolras’s lap. They had just finished watching some superhero movie or another (Courfeyrac’s choice), and were debating what to put on next. It was Combeferre’s turn to decide and Courfeyrac was trying his hardest to convince Combeferre that he should choose the sequel to the movie they just finished.

“It won an Academy Award!”

“For special effects.”

“That counts. Right, Enjolras?”

“Enjolras?” Combeferre said, concerned. Enjolras was staring off into space, tugging at the hem of his shirt absent-mindedly.

“Earth to Enjolras,” Courfeyrac waved a hand in Enjolras’s face. “ _Enjy_.”

If anything could break Enjolras out of his trance, it was that detested nickname.

“ _What_?” he snapped.

“You’ve been a little distracted lately,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras sighed as his two friends watched him patiently. He could tell them now, or he could put off the inevitable.

“Is it possible to be in love with two people at once?”

Courfeyrac sputtered and looked like Christmas had come early. Combeferre’s face remained neutral as he surveyed Enjolras carefully.

“I spend years ragging on you about your lack of love life, and now you tell me you’re in love with not one but _two_ people?” Courfeyrac said. “One of them is R, right? One of them’s got to be R.”

Enjolras nodded stiffly. Yes, that much was obvious.

“Then who’s the other- oh!” Courfeyrac’s eyes widened. “Grantaire. It’s Grantaire, isn’t it?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately. Unless you have another secret pen pal, I can’t think of who else is new in your life,” Courfeyrac said matter-of-factly.

“Grantaire isn’t _new_ ,” Enjolras said, shifting uncomfortably. Sometimes he forgot how observant Courfeyrac was when it came to his friends.

“Hanging out with him is. Not trying to murder him is.”

Enjolras groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Yes, alright? It’s Grantaire.”

Courfeyrac let out a whoop. Combeferre rubbed small circles on Enjolras’s back soothingly.

“Does Grantaire know?”

“No,” Enjolras said. “But the whole thing is wrong. I can’t have feelings for two people at once. It feels…disloyal. And how can I be serious about one if I like the other?”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much. You’re not the first person it’s happened to, and you won’t be the last,” Courfeyrac said. “You’re not committed to either one, so there’s no need to feel guilty.”

Enjolras looked up to Combeferre, whose mouth was set grimly. “He’s right. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“But-”

“You know R’s opinions really well by now, and that you two get along online, but you don’t know how you’d be in real life,” Courfeyrac said. “And you know that you and Grantaire have chemistry, but you’re still getting to know him. You only have half of two people.”

“Talk to R,” Combeferre said firmly. “You need to meet him face to face before you make any decisions or get any more upset by this.”

Enjolras let out a frustrated huff of air. “I’ve _been_ trying to meet R. For over a month. He’s not interested. He says he’s in the middle of a ‘project’ and can’t meet until he’s done.”

“What kind of project?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Try again,” Combeferre said confidently. “I’m sure he’ll come around soon.”

 

***

R did _not_ come around. Enjolras, who in his estimate had been very, very good about not badgering R about meeting him had sent him a polite email saying he understood R needed time, but it had been a few weeks, and maybe he could reconsider? R’s response had been short.

            **R:** still don’t think it’s a good idea. im still working on that project i mentioned.

Enjolras’s disappointment was only slightly alleviated by the prospect of getting to tell Combeferre he was wrong- a rare occurrence. He swung by the Musain to pick up Combeferre after work, so they could go to dinner.

“You were wrong,” Enjolras said, in lieu of a greeting. “He still doesn’t want to meet me.”

“I said he’d come around soon,” Combeferre said. “Not right away.”

“Just admit defeat,” Enjolras said, trying to keep his tone teasing to stop any disappointment from leaking through.

From Combeferre’s face, he was apparently unsuccessful.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras lied. Combeferre had enough things to worry about without Enjolras adding to the list.

“Okay,” Combeferre said. “Could you do me a favor? I think I left my wallet in the back. Could you grab it? I have to straighten something up, then we can go.”

Enjolras nodded, and headed to the back. He checked the corner he knew Combeferre usually took his breaks in, but didn’t find it. He looked behind stacks of books, and under chairs, but still no sign of the wallet. Enjolras headed back to the front of the store to ask Combeferre where exactly his wallet was, but Combeferre wasn’t in the book section.

That was weird. Maybe Grantaire knew where he was, Enjolras thought, as he went towards the café to ask him. It turned out there was no need, because Combeferre was leaning against the counter, saying something to Grantaire, who was listening very, very intently. Enjolras came closer, walking quietly, so as not to interrupt them. Before he could get close enough to hear what Combeferre was saying, Combeferre spotted him.

“Enjolras,” he said, smiling.

“I couldn’t find your wallet,” Enjolras said. “Are you sure it was in the back room?”

Combeferre frowned, then patted his pockets. “Oh,” he said, looking sheepish. “It turns out it was here the entire time. I just didn’t notice. Sorry about that.”

Enjolras shrugged. God knows Combeferre had done much more pointless activities to help him out in the past.

“We’d better get going,” Combeferre said. “Bye Grantaire.”

“Bye,” Grantaire mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“See you tomorrow,” Enjolras added.

Grantaire waved stiffly, and Enjolras noticed that he looked much paler than usual.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“What was _that_ all about?” Enjolras asked when he and Combeferre left the building. “Is he really okay?”

“I was just giving him some friendly advice,” Combeferre said. “He should be fine.”

Enjolras didn’t question him any further. If Combeferre said Grantaire was going to be fine, then he trusted him. They had just placed an order for takeout so they could bring it back to Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s apartment for a dinner/study session, when Enjolras felt his phone vibrate.

“Sorry,” He said, pulling it out. “It might be Bossuet. He’s supposed to send me an article for our blog.”

He had been sent an email, but not from Bossuet. It was from R. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before opening it.

            **R:**  im ready to meet. tell me when/where

Enjolras stared at the message in disbelief. He had to read it over several times before it sunk in, and a smile spread over his face.

“Everything okay?” Combeferre asked.

Enjolras pocketed his phone. “Yeah. R said he’s ready to meet me.”

“Did he?”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

Combeferre smirked. “I told you he’s come around, didn’t I?”

“Remind me to never question your judgment again.”

*******

Enjolras decided to meet R at the Musain. It was a rather uninspired choice, he thought (and Courfeyrac chastised him), but it was somewhere where he felt safe. And it was a nice location. And if R didn’t like bookstore/cafes, especially ones as charming as the Musain, then Enjolras probably didn’t want to meet him anyway (that was an absolute, utter lie).

Somehow, Feuilly caught wind of the fact that Enjolras was meeting a date at the Musain. (Enjolras suspected he had overheard Courfeyrac scolding Enjolras. Courfeyrac would never knowingly betray Enjolras’s confidence, but his voice did carry). Feuilly offered Enjolras the keys to the building so he could meet his mystery guy after everyone had left.

“You can even use the coffee equipment, and I’ll leave any baked goods there for you two.”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras said, unbelievably touched that Feuilly trusted him that much.

Feuilly nodded. “I know you’re responsible. And plus, do you really want to meet this guy with everyone else hanging around?”

No. No he did not. Funnily enough, Feuilly would probably be the only one of his friends to behave himself. Enjolras could picture Combeferre’s intense and terrifying face as he judged poor R. Courfeyrac would be next to him, sprouting an endless stream of innuendos. With his luck, Jehan would be there too, writing poetry about his and R’s love. Joly and Bossuet would probably pop in and tell embarrassing stories about him. Bahorel would threaten to beat the shit out of R if he ever hurt him.

Of course, these interactions with his friends would be inevitable if things went well with R. And although it would be embarrassing, Enjolras was secretly hoping R _would_ meet his friends someday.  He felt sure he’d get along with them. He paused. He wondered how Grantaire and R would get along. If Grantaire could get over his irrational hatred of R, maybe they could get along very well. He didn’t like to think of it; despite Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s assurances that he had nothing to feel guilty about, having feelings for two people at once, he did, and he didn’t like to think of Grantaire and R at the same time (even though this was hard as they both dominated his thoughts).

Sending R the email setting up the time had been one of the most stressful emails he had sent in his life.

            **June1832:** Meet me at the Musain Books and Café Thursday night.

            **R:** how will u know who i am?

            **June1832:** I thought we could meet after it closes, so I will literally be the only person there.

Enjolras paused. Maybe that would be too much, and freak R out?

            **June1832:** Unless you’d go somewhere else. I just thought we’d have some privacy that way.

            **R:** no, less people is good. i don’t want a scene

Why did R automatically assume there was going to be a scene?

            **R:** either way, i’m going to bring a copy of rosseau’s essays

That made Enjolras grin. That had been one of the first email rants R had sent him- an argument on Rosseau.

            **June1832:** I’ve read them before. I have a copy.

            **R:** u should reread them, because your interpretation is completely and 100% wrong

Enjolras couldn’t even bring himself to pretend to be annoyed with R. He was too elated, because _this was actually happening_.

            **R:** i’m bringing u my copy w/ my notes written in it. deal with it

            **June1832:** I’ll survive somehow.

He sent R a more specific time than “after it closes”, and exed out, grinning widely.

 

***

The night before his meeting with R, Grantaire walked Enjolras home from work.

“I’m meeting R tomorrow,” Enjolras said without any preamble.

“Oh,” was the only response he received.

They walked in silence together. When they were about a block from Enjolras’s apartment, Grantaire said. “Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

“Of course.”

“You know once you meet him, there’s no turning back. Is it worth the risk?”

“Without risk, there can be no progress,” Enjolras said.

They had reached Enjolras’s apartment door.

“Well, I hope you’re not disappointed,” Grantaire said.

He stood there, leaning against the doorway as Enjolras fumbled with his keys. When he had the correct key in hand, he turned to Grantaire.

“Do you want to come up? I’d offer you coffee, but I know how you feel about my coffee.”

Grantaire scoffed. “I don’t think that counted as coffee. It was a new kind of poison.”

“We could watch a movie or something,” Enjolras continued. “And I think I could manage to microwave a bag of popcorn.”

Grantaire took a small step towards Enjolras, making Enjolras hold his breath. But before he had time to do anything, Grantaire was shaking his head, and retreating back to the street.

“Better not,” he said, letting out a shaky laugh. “But Enjolras?”

“Yes?”

“No matter how things go tomorrow, I want you to know that I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot at the beginning.”

“That was a long time ago,” Enjolras said. He didn’t understand why Grantaire was bringing it up now; he had thought they moved past that.

“I know, but still. And these past few weeks,” Grantaire exhaled and gave his head a little shake. He seemed to be debating if he should say what was on his mind. He smiled up shyly. “These past few weeks have been amazing. The best.”

“The best,” Enjolras echoed, before realizing he agreed. He wouldn’t have changed a thing about them.

Grantaire’s face broke into a breathtaking smile. As he disappeared into the night, Enjolras, for the first time wondered if maybe Grantaire had been right. Maybe he didn’t have to meet R, because he had Grantaire.

*******

Of course, Enjolras was going to go through with the meeting. He was in too far not to. His shift at the Musain lasted an eternity. Grantaire wasn’t working, so Enjolras couldn’t even sneak over to the café and distract himself during his breaks. Courfeyrac was working, and kept sending reassuring smiles in Enjolras’s direction, which while well-meaning, only made Enjolras more anxious.

Finally, _finally_ , the Musain was closed. The kitchen and dining area were cleaned for the day. Courfeyrac gripped Enjolras’s shoulder on his way out the door.

“Good luck.”

Feuilly too stopped in front of Enjolras. He handed over a key to the front door.

“Lock up when you’re done,” he said.

Enjolras nodded, and Feuilly gave him an encouraging smile, before leaving. Enjolras was alone. He went behind the counter, and stared at the coffee machine. He really hoped R like water, because even though he had permission to use the coffee maker, he still didn’t know how to properly use it. Grantaire would laugh at his pathetic attempts at brewing a beverage, before making a perfect cup of some complicated drink or another.

No. He couldn’t think about Grantaire right now. It was messing with his head too much.

Enjolras forced himself to sit down, because relentless pacing was doing nothing for his nerves. _Deep breaths_ , he told himself. He sat down in a chair facing the door. He grabbed fistfuls of his hair, and rested his elbows on the table, forcing his head down. If he kept staring at the door, he was going to go insane. What if R decided not to show up again? He tried to banish such a thought. Of course he would. He knew how hurt Enjolras had been the last time, and he promised he wouldn’t do it again.

More unwelcome thoughts intruded his mind. What if one of Grantaire’s wild speculations was right? What if he was a serial killer, or (Enjolras shuddered) a conservative? Of course, that was highly unlikely. Enjolras knew R. He was a good person. Grantaire was trying to mess with Enjolras. Grantaire was trying to freak Enjolras out. The bells on the door rang, and Enjolras looked up. Grantaire was walking through the door.

Enjolras sat up straight. Grantaire was walking through the door. Why was he walking through the door? Had he forgotten something in the kitchens? Did he come to offer moral support? He seemed…nervous. He wasn’t walking with his usual swagger. Maybe something was wrong. Enjolras couldn’t stop staring at Grantaire until he stopped at the other end of the table and slid something across it.

Enjolras reached for it, not knowing what it was. His fingers brushed with Grantaire’s, causing the brunette to flinch. Finally, Enjolras ripped his eyes away from Grantaire’s face, and looked at the object he held. It took a minute to process that he had a copy of

Rosseau’s essays.  It took another minute to process the implication of that.

Slowly, Enjolras looked up to Grantaire, who stood frozen. “You?”

There were so many thoughts racing around Enjolras’s head, that he felt it might explode. Grantaire remained rather unhelpfully silent and still.

“But…” Enjolras bit his lip. This made no sense and a lot of sense at the same time. It explained why Grantaire had happened to be at the café that night over a month ago. It would explain why Enjolras found Grantaire easier to talk to the more he got to know him- because Grantaire was R, and R was already his friend.

But it didn’t explain why Grantaire hadn’t said anything. He had known for weeks who June1832 really was. And what was the project he was working on? A small, irrational fear gripped Enjolras. Was he just trying to wind Enjolras up, and then reveal himself as an elaborate joke? No. No, Grantaire was many things, but cruel was not one of them. But why had he said nothing?

Enjolras met Grantaire’s gaze. He was so confused, and he had so many questions, but he could only repeat, “ _You_?”

Grantaire’s face crumbled, and a soft whimper escaped from his lips. He finally moved, but not towards Enjolras. He was moving, _running_ towards the door. Now it was Enjolras who was frozen as he heard the door slam shut.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. I apologize for the cliffhanger. This was originally going to be the last chapter, but I decided to split it. *Not* to be mean. But I'd been alternating chapters with Enjolras and Grantaire's povs, then a chapter with a split pov. I decided I wanted the last chapter to be another split pov one. Since Enjolras still needed his pov chapter, it meant there had to be another chapter.  
> I hopefully won't take as long to get to the next chapter.  
> Thanks for reading. I'm at babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com. (Unless you're going to yell at me for leaving the chapter like that. In that case...I uh....don't have a tumblr?)


	6. Revelations and Resolutions

The door slammed shut, and Enjolras still couldn’t move. Grantaire was R. _Grantaire_ was R. Grantaire was R, and he just ran away. Grantaire was R, and Enjolras _let_ him run away.

How long had passed? Seconds? Minutes? (Dear God, _please_ not minutes…how would he ever catch up to Grantaire if it had been minutes?)

Brain still reeling, Enjolras snatched up the bundle of winter clothes that rested next to him on an empty chair and ran towards the door as fast his feet would go. He paused only long enough to lock up the door (because Feuilly would rightfully _kill_ him if anything happened to the store) and decide which of the dark streets Grantaire most likely went down. He peered left and right, tugging on his coat, and cursing himself for letting Grantaire out of his sight to begin with.

He had no idea where to go, and was left with nothing to follow but pure instinct. He kept running, taking a sharp right, going down the street he knew would take him closest to a canal. He hoped with every fiber of his being that he was right, that Grantaire too would be drawn to the water, because he could not afford to be wrong. He couldn’t afford to lose Grantaire or R. Fuck. If he was wrong, he would probably lose both of them, and that was something he could not bear.

Luckily, when he rounded the corner, Enjolras spotted a familiar figure slouched on a bench overlooking the canal. Grantaire was staring blankly at the water, shoulder slumped in defeat. His head turned when he heard Enjolras’s footsteps. His eyes widened, and he stood up.

Why did he stand up? To confront Enjolras? To run again?

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. Enjolras didn’t slow down until he was standing practically face to face with Grantaire. He was slightly breathless as he stopped abruptly in front of the other man. He paused only long enough to make sure Grantaire was okay- physically, that was. He had absolutely no idea what was going on inside his head. Then he asked another question.

“Why?”

It was a single question, but it was a hundred as well. Why the deception? Why didn’t you tell me? But also: why did you run?

Still, Grantaire said nothing. Enjolras didn’t know whether laugh or throw his arms up in the air. Usually he couldn’t get Grantaire to _stop_ talking. He never thought he’d encounter the exact opposite problem.

“Why didn’t you tell me? At the café? Or afterwards? Was…was this all a big joke to you?”

Grantaire flinched at the last question, and Enjolras would have felt bad for asking, for even implying such a thing about Grantaire’s character, but he had no idea what the hell was going on, and Grantaire wasn’t helping at all.

“Of course not,” Grantaire’s voice came out ragged. “I told you. The past few weeks…they were the best.”

He said it with such painful sincerity, it made Enjolras ache. “Then why-”

“Because I didn’t want you to be disappointed when you found out who I was!” Grantaire practically shouted, taking a step backwards.

Now it was Enjolras’s turn to flinch. “You thought I would be disappointed?”

The look Grantaire gave him said it all, and Enjolras couldn’t deny he had a point. If Grantaire had revealed himself the first time, Enjolras honestly wasn’t sure how he would have reacted. He would like to think he would have been okay with it, but remembering that day, and remembering where their relationship had been just a month ago, he couldn’t be sure.

Grantaire was still looking at him like he thought Enjolras would be disgusted with him. Words were difficult –for both of them, apparently- so Enjolras wanted to show him. He _had_ been disappointed, because he thought R wanted nothing to do with him, and he had thought he lost him. He reached into his jacket pocket, where he had stuffed R’s dark green scarf he had brought with the intention of returning to him, and tried to hand it to Grantaire.

It seemed Grantaire didn’t want to accept it. He stared at it, guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

Enjolras took a tentative step forward, not wanting to move too quickly, and wanting to give Grantaire enough time to stop him if he didn’t want him to come any closer. When Grantaire made no sign of protest, Enjolras carefully draped the scarf around his neck.

“Really, really sorry,” Grantaire mumbled. “You have no idea-”

He was still talking, but Enjolras was having trouble listening. Because he knew Grantaire was sorry, and he was sorry too, for things that had happened. But the things that they were sorry for happened in the past, and the present was what mattered. The present was deafening, and Enjolras knew they had to talk, that they still had things they had to work through, but he also knew that if he didn’t kiss Grantaire, he might explode.

He reached out, and gently cupped Grantaire’s cheek. Grantaire stopped talking mid-sentence and froze. Slowly, Enjolras leaned forward, and pressed a chaste kiss on Grantaire’s lips.

 

***

Enjolras pulled back after only a second. Grantaire wanted to whine in protest- he already missed the feel of Enjolras’s lips on his. But he had from that one kiss already received more than he had dared hope for, and certainly more than he deserved. So he made no protest. When he opened his eyes though, Enjolras was still standing there, close in front of him.

His blue eyes were wide and uncertain, but he was half smiling. “Was that okay?”

This was one hell of a day for his words to fail him, Grantaire thought bitterly. But he couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the beautiful man in front of him, and admire the faint pink blooming on his cheeks. Was he blushing, or flushed from the cold?

Before he could stop himself, Grantaire reached out, and traced those rosy cheeks with his thumb. They were warm against his freezing hands. Grantaire would have felt bad, but the curve of Enjorlas’s cheeks became more pronounced as his smile broadened, so he probably didn’t mind the cold too much.

“We still have to talk,” Enjolras murmured.

Grantaire nodded. He opened his mouth to reply, but Enjorlas grabbed his scarf and pulled him close again. He paused only for a second before pressing Grantaire’s lips to his again.

This kiss lasted longer. It was deeper and far more intimate. Grantaire was just growing bold enough to start exploring Enjolras’s mouth, when the blonde pulled away. This time, Grantaire _did_ make a whining sound.

Enjolras looked dazed, and even more flushed than he had a minute ago. His hands were still gripping the scarf. “Talking,” he said, his sternness undermined by his breathlessness. “We need to talk.”

Grantaire wanted to point out that it was Enjolras who kept kissing _him_ , but he didn’t want Enjolras to think he was complaining, because kissing Enjolras was probably his new favorite thing. His train of thought was also interrupted by Enjolras grabbing his hands and enveloping them in his own.

“You’re freezing,” Enjolras frowned.

“Good thing I have my scarf back,” Grantaire joked weakly. Enjolras took off one of his gloves and handed it to Grantaire.

Enjolras pulled Grantaire away from the water’s edge, and took Grantaire’s gloveless hand in his own. “Let’s go inside,” he said. “Then we’ll talk.”

For whatever inexplicable reason, Enjolras still wanted to be around him, and if that was the case, then Grantaire didn’t have it in him to deny him anything, not anymore. So he allowed himself to be lead back to the Musain. Enjolras didn’t let go of his hand until he had to get the keys to unlock the front door. Once inside, he didn’t reclaim Grantaire’s hand, but instead, steered him to a table.

He didn’t join Grantaire right away. Grantaire could hear Enjolras moving around behind the counter. He reappeared several minutes later, with two steaming mugs, one of which he slid to Grantaire before settling across him.

“Tea,” Enjolras said, before Grantaire could ask. “I know how you feel about my coffee.”

“I told you, it’s not coffee,” Grantaire said, his fingers curling around the warm cup.

Sitting across from each other in the confines of the café, neither man seemed willing to speak first. If they were going to have a stand-off to see who was more stubborn, they could be there literally all night. Luckily, Enjolras sighed, and broke the silence first.

“Why did you think I would be disappointed?”

Grantaire snorted. They both knew the answer. “Because I’m me. Because you hate me.”

“I never hated you,” Enjolras said quickly.

“Yeah,” Grantaire scoffed. “Right.”

“I didn’t. I’ll admit, sometimes I didn’t like you very much. You constantly frustrated me, and I lost my temper a lot. But I never hated you. I don’t think I could ever hate you. Unless you want to tell me you’re also secretly the CEO of a morally dubious corporation?”

“You found out my only secret identity,” Grantaire assured him, earning him a soft smile.

“When did you decide you didn’t hate _me_ anymore?” Enjolras asked after a minute.

“Hate you?” Grantaire repeated, stunned.

“Well, yeah,” Enjolras crinkled his brow. “Didn’t you?”

“I’ve been in love with you for months,” Grantaire blurted out. He didn’t really care how that sounded, because really, they were past the point of him trying to play it cool.

Enjolras was quiet as he processed this. “But…you….”

“Were an asshole?” Grantaire finished for him. “Yeah. It’s a thing I do. I’m kind of a dick, most of the time. I just wanted to be upfront about it.”

Grantaire wished he had a camera to capture the way Enjolras tilted his head to the side quizzically as he tried to figure Grantaire out. There were more pressing issues at hand, but frankly, it was adorable, and a pleasant distraction from what he was afraid Enjolras was about to say.

“You can be abrasive. But it’s just one aspect of your personality. I wish I had seen you sooner.”

And he was wrong- Grantaire knew he was wrong. He was being Enjolras, and seeing good things where they didn’t exist. But because he was Enjolras, he said it with such conviction that Grantaire wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard, perhaps he could have something to offer him other than sarcasm and cynicism. But because he was _Grantaire_ , he had to argue.

“I think you had a pretty good idea who I was from the start.”

Enjolras shook his head. “No. I haven’t really seen you until recently.” He gave a small laugh. “I’ve been going crazy for the past week, because I thought I was in love with two different people.”

“You’re in love with me?”

Enjolras nodded. “Is that a problem?”

“Considering I just told you a minute ago that I’m in love with you too, no.”

Grantaire leaned in to steal another kiss, but Enjolras jerked his head back.

“Seriously, I was going insane. Courfeyrac almost made me have another romantic comedy and comfort food day,” he said gravely.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes,” Enjolras replied bluntly. He slowly closed the distance between them. “We could have been doing this a lot sooner.”

And he was kissing Grantaire again.

 

***

They stayed at the Musain until well past midnight. Enjolras tried to understand why Grantaire had pushed him away and set his expectations so low for when they finally met. He understood the rationale behind it, but it was difficult for Enjolras to comprehend how Grantaire had such a distorted view of himself. How such an amazing, beautiful man could think he would be disappointing to anyone, once he had shown them just how special he truly was. It was something Enjolras promised himself he would have to work on- getting Grantaire to see himself the way Enjolras saw him.

When it was almost two in the morning, they parted ways, as they both had busy days ahead of them. Grantaire insisted on walking Enjolras back to his apartment, and lingered at the steps.

“What exactly are we now?” he asked.

“What do you want to be?”

“Anything. Anything you want.”

“I was hoping that you would consider being my boyfriend,” Enjolras said.

 “Really?”

“If that’s okay with you.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yes. That’s more than okay.”

After another kiss (or two), Grantaire reluctantly left him with the promise of seeing him the next night, at their Friday meeting.

“We can tell everyone about us there,” Enjolras said thoughtfully. “You know they’d all be offended that they weren’t the first person we told, so we might as well tell everyone at once.”

“You want to tell all our friends, already?” Grantaire’s eyes were wide.

“Unless you don’t want to?” Enjolras said.

“No,” Grantaire said, giving a breathtaking smile. “No, that sounds good.”

 

***

When it was almost time for the meeting, Enjolras found Grantaire in the kitchens, cleaning up after his shift.

“We don’t have to do this,” Grantaire told him.

“Do you not want to?” Enjolras frowned.

“No, I’m just saying, if you didn’t want to…I would understand.”

Grantaire was giving him a way out. He probably thought Enjolras had changed his mind in less than 24 hours.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

And he kissed Grantaire. Partially to stop him from arguing, and partially because he was quickly discovering that kissing Grantaire was one of his new favorite things.

He pulled away, and saw another one of his new favorite things: a look of happiness on Grantaire’s face, and the knowledge that it was there partially because of him. He did another thing he found he loved doing: he took Grantaire’s hand.  (He had found a lot of new favorite things in the last 24 hours, and he was exciting at the prospect of discovering more).

The pair emerged from the kitchen, still holding hands, and joined the rest of the Amis, who had already assembled.

“There they are. I told you Enjolras wouldn’t be late,” Joly said.

“I’m a little surprised Grantaire is on time,” Bahorel said.

When they came out from behind the counter, Courfeyrac fell out of his chair.

“No, no, no, wait. Stop. Actually don’t stop. But _whatthefuckishappening_?”

Everyone else looked at where Courfeyrac was pointing with a shaking hand, and collectively lost their shit once they say Enjolras and Grantaire holding hands. Everyone except for Combeferre and Jehan, that is.

Feuilly was the first to gain any semblance of decorum. “So what the fuck _is_ happening?”

“Grantaire and I are dating now,” Enjolras said as if it were obvious.

Everyone was silent.

“But…what about the other dude?” Bahorel finally asked.

“Enjolras _is_ the other dude,” Jehan explained gently.

“Wait, Grantaire is R?” Courfeyrac said. “You’ve been stressing about liking two different people, and it’s the same person? Seriously?”

“It would appear so,” Enjolras said.

“Enjolras was stressing about his love life?” Bossuet said eagerly. “What was that like?”

“Probably about as much fun as we had with Grantaire,” Jehan said.

“No one ever tells me anything,” Feuilly said.

Combeferre put his head in his hands as more pandemonium broke out as the Amis realized they had all been keeping secrets from each other.

“Grand R. It was in his fucking name the whole time!” Courfeyrac howled.

Enjolras brought his fist down on the table, looking slightly embarrassed at how his and Grantaire’s romance had become the main topic of conversation.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, perhaps we could look at the agenda? First item of busi-”

He was drowned out by various protests, because there was no way that he and Grantaire were getting away with explaining so little. Grantaire was grabbed by Bahorel, Bossuet and Joly, all of who demanded he explain exactly what happened the night of his date. Jehan followed serenely, and helped fill in the blanks, since Grantaire had more or less told him everything.

“You do realize how incredibly lucky you are, that June1832 turned out to be Enjolras, right?” Joly said.

“I’m surprised none of us figured out it was Enjolras. I mean, the username alone…” Bossuet shook his head.  

“I’m surprised he didn’t kick your ass when he found out you knew for a month and didn’t tell him,” Bahorel said. “Hell, _I’m_ contemplating kicking your ass for not telling him. It would have saved us all from some serious unresolved sexual tension and angst.”

“Thanks for the support,” Grantaire said.

Bahorel toasted him with his coffee mug.

“But you’re happy?” Joly asked.

“I think so,” Grantaire said, honestly.

“Well, I guess there will be no ass kicking for now,” Bahorel said.

“That’s generous of you.”

“But if you hurt him, or he hurts you…” Bahorel said, wagging a stern finger at Grantaire, who couldn’t help but laugh.

“Honestly, you need to work on the threats. You are nowhere near as scary as Combeferre.”

“Combeferre?” Bossuet said, chuckling.

“What? That guy can be fucking terrifying.”

Joly and Jehan were laughing too, and Bahorel shook his head.

“Whatever,” Grantaire said. “You have all been warned.”

He got up to find Enjolras, who had been cornered in a booth by Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Even from across the room, he could hear Courfeyrac screeching at Combeferre.

“Wait, _you_ knew? And you didn’t fucking tell us?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Combeferre said calmly.

Grantaire approached the table. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“And you!” Courfeyrac snapped. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily either.”

“Can we save it for later? The others just chewed me out.”

“Rightfully so,” Courfeyrac muttered. “Okay, rain check. But don’t think you’ve heard the last from us.”

 “Are you going to threaten me again?” Grantaire asked Combeferre, half-jokingly, sliding into the booth next to Enjolras.

Enjolras looked between his best friend and boyfriend, confused.

“That depends,” Combeferre said. “Are you going to hurt him again?”

Grantaire took a quick peek at Enjolras, and shook his head seriously.

“Then no. Congratulations, you two,” Combeferre said, patting Enjolras’s shoulder before excusing himself. Courfeyrac was still staring at Grantaire and Enjolras like he couldn’t believe this was actually happening, so Combeferre tugged on his arm, and took him with him.  

Enjolras smiled, and made a quick mental note to have a chat later with Combeferre about threatening people on his behalf.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Grantaire murmured. “If he hadn’t threatened me, I don’t think I would have worked up the nerve to meet with you for another year. Maybe two, if ever. Seriously, Combeferre is terrifying.”

Enjolras shifted, curling up against Grantaire’s side and resting his head on his shoulder.

“That’s what I keep telling people. No one ever believes me.”

“I think that’s part of his master plan. No one suspects the quiet ones. It makes him more powerful.”

“I would protect you from him,” Enjolras said seriously.

“Oh would you?” Grantaire smirked.

“I’d protect you from anything, Combeferre’s wrath included. I love you.”

Grantaire kissed the top of his head. “And I adore you.”

Enjolras smiled, cuddling up closer to Grantaire. Grantaire moved his hands into Enjolras’s hair, teasing it as they watched their friends talking and laughing across the café, their meeting for once forgotten. He felt he could stay there for the rest of his life, and be perfectly happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand fin! I've never really written smoochies or love scenes before, so hopefully it wasn't too mushy (which is my way of saying please give feedback- good or bad). 
> 
> Thank you all so, so so much for reading! This is the first fic that I have ever completed, and I'm actually a little sad to leave this verse behind. (There are a few bumps along the way, but rest assured, they live happily ever after). It's been so much fun to write. Thank you for reading, and for all your feedback- it wouldn't have been as much fun without all you lovely people. 
> 
> A few weeks ago, I had an anon ask me if I took fic prompts, so I'm going to repeat what I said to them, which is that I will, but I can't promise to fulfill them. Basically, if I thought I could write a decent story, and had the time to do so, I more than likely would write it, so feel free to send them over. I'm also finishing two other fics, and have a few more ideas that I'm really excited for. (I either have no ideas, or too many at once, it seems). 
> 
> Come say hi at babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com. I always love talking to fellow Les-Mis fans. :) 
> 
> Thanks again, lovelies for sticking with this fic!


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